Where the Wild Things Roam
by Razzika
Summary: "I was going with Tarzan and Jane," Eric explains, buzzing with so much glee that she can't help but smile. "It fits. If we swap the genders, replace apes with raptors, and throw a little James Patterson in." Or: mad scientists get drunk one day and ask the question 'what would happen if we mixed raptor and human DNA' and go with it. Expands into Jurassic World. No romance.
1. Part 1

Hella AU, in case that wasn't already obvious.

This…got away from me. It was done over four days, and I can't look at it anymore. Part 2 will expand into Jurassic World.

Considering what Vic was after in JW, and how secretive Island B was, I think it was entirely possible that someone might have pitched the idea of throwing a bit of dino DNA in with humans. Moral ambiguity and mad scientist whims for the win!

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She is falling.

Water rushes around her, sucking and pulling until she is on the floor.

People are screaming. Raptors are screaming. Everyone is screaming.

There is a mask over her face, tubes down her throat.

She panics.

She claws at the mask, yanking the straps from her skull. There are other straps and other tubes, wires, needles under her skin. She pulls them all out, violently freeing her skin from their touch until none are left. She stills, curling into a ball as guns crack and glass showers over her in glittering shards.

The air is sweet and bloody. She tastes it, savours it, and pulls it greedily into her lungs.

The room smells of red, of metal, of blood.

This place made us, she thinks, this place controlled us.

This place is being painted with red.

The noise shifts, moves, and soon the screaming and guns are outside. The raptors are still shrieking. Defending, hunting, attacking. They will be free, even if freedom is not something they truly understand.

The humans are prey. The humans are running. The humans are afraid.

Good, she thinks, let them tremble.

The floor is cold and wet under her cheek, and broken glass presses against her skin threateningly, but she waits until the sounds are further away before pushing to her feet. She slips, and slices her hand open on her old container trying to stay balanced.

A low hiss shivers in her chest. Blood runs down her palm, her arm, dripping to the floor. Enough of her blood has been spilt in this room. She plucks a stray shard from the wound and licks the blood away.

Engines roar, people scream, something explodes.

She laughs.

The bodies are still warm, some still move. She finds one, and knows its smell, its shape, and nudges it onto its back.

"Six," the doctor coughs, blood foaming in the corners of his mouth. His stomach glistens from within the slit over his belly, intestines hanging in ropes beside him. "Six, help me. Please."

"No," she says, and he wheezes. Never has she spoken to him, them, though she could. "I will not."

Her voice is low and ill-used. She can make other sounds, like the raptors, more easily.

"You-You," he reaches for her, shredded labcoat stained red, "I made you. You are mine. I order you to help me."

She sets a foot over his chest, talons curling down. She could hook them over his ribs and pull them out, if she wanted to. Watch his heart flutter before ripping that out too. It must be an ill, shriveled looking thing.

"I am me," she says, "I am my own."

She hates.

He is dying. She will make him die faster.

"Wait, don't-"

The elongated talon on her left foot comes down over the flesh of his throat, over his frantic pulse, driving deep. Blood spurts in an arc, splattering her with warmth, and he dies spluttering and choking.

She tears a strip from the clean part of his coat and ties it around her hand.

More bodies are in the next room, two still moan and cry. She ignores them. Their faces are remembered, their faces will be forgotten.

She comes across the cages. The raptors are smart, they have broken free, and incidentally, freed her. The body of a guard is mutilated and torn at her feet, uneaten. They would have known his face too, would have seen his hand over the buttons that open the cages and the manacles. She takes the keys from his belt.

The screaming has finally stopped, and the thunder of helicopters roars overhead. The raptors may enjoy their freedom for a while, or they might come back and feast. She does not know what they will do, so she runs through the hallways, locking doors behind her as she goes.

She remembers which keys go where, as she has been walked through these halls many times. Sometimes with a collar around her throat and two guards over one, sometimes not.

Her room, her cage, is at the end. The others are empty, where once they were full. She is the last.

The number six is bold on her door, stark and black like the ink on her left shoulder.

There is a bed in the room. A dresser with uniform grey and black clothing within. She takes off the stretchy clothing they make her wear when she goes into the tank, and puts on the softer clothing. It sticks to her skin, but it will dry. She will grow still, so she leaves the cages behind and collects items from the quarters of those she hates. The doctors, the scientists, the humans.

There are bags and suitcases. She fills one and carefully packs the rest away. She will come back as she needs too.

Then, she leaves.

She is free.

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It is raining, storming, howling, when she steps outside.

It is wonderful.

The grass feels good under her feet, and so too does the rough bark of the trees. Wind pushes around her, eggs her on as she runs faster and faster. This is different from a treadmill. Better.

There is a man called Tarzan in one of her books. He would use the trees to travel, swinging and jumping and climbing, high and safe. So she leaps claws her way up into the trees, leaping from branch to branch, keeping her scent from the ground where the raptors might scent out her trail. They are smart, she knows, and now the people know how smart they are too.

A roar shakes the air. It is long and heavy, bruising her ears, but she laughs and chases the sound. Higher and higher into the trees she goes. This dinosaur is big, she knows.

The raptors are not the only ones free.

The last of the people are piling into cars and trucks, and the great spinosaurus chases them. Her snout is long and full. Full of teeth, full of blood. Guns do little but annoy her, and she chases the people towards the aviary.

She watches from a distance, safe in a tree, and waves goodbye.

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She makes her way to the herbivore pens, and fumbles with the buttons until she finds one that unlocks the gates. The gates open, and she watches as they slowly lumber from the pens and explore. Drawing draughts of new smells into their lungs, cautiously spreading out of their pens. Lightening startles them, urging them into movement, and they leave their cages behind.

They bray and bellow when she tries to come closer, so she climbs back into her tree and watches from a distance.

"Now we are all free," she says to no one.

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Storms wash the ground clean and tear more of the fences down. She finds an observation room tucked up in the fork of a giant tree, hides from the bigger storms, and finds that she likes this cabin. It is not metal and white, but wooden and comfortable. She makes it hers, fills it with whatever she likes.

She knows how to read, for they had taught her when she was younger and less defiant, and finds books that will teach her what plants can and cannot be eaten. Survival books, they are called.

She is smart, and they gave her books upon books to read when she behaved. They wanted to know how smart, how fast, how strong. The others died, one after the other. Defects, they were called. But she had been strong.

She hates.

She learns.

Time passes, and the dinosaurs begin to change. Some of the girls become boys over time, and then many small dinosaurs join the herds. She grows like they do, bigger, stronger. She hunts, she plays, she lives.

The short tail above her rear grows longer, heavier with muscle. She runs faster, leaps from the trees like the monkeys who chitter and hiss at her. The raptors did return, she discovers, making their nests near one of the creeks, so she stays out of their reach.

She sees them sometimes, grey shadows leaping underfoot, and calls down at them if they are not hunting. They don't know what to make of her, and warn her off with rumbles and flashes of teeth, but they do not attack. Not even when she climbs to the lower branches and croons calmly.

The humans had wanted her to talk with the raptors. It is part of why they made her, they said, we know you understand them, we know you can make their sounds. Control, is what they wanted.

She refused.

When she starts hunting larger prey, she is sure to separate a portion from her own with the pocketknife she found in the cabin. This portion, she drops from the trees. The raptors eat her offers. Again and again, she does this, and over time they do not snarl and bark when she bounds through their territory without bothering to hide.

The alpha never lets her near the nests, and she does not mind this.

Eventually, she begins to run along the ground again, though never near the nests, and sometimes sees shadows glide through the forest. They don't attack, and she finally gets to explore again.

The island is big and dense, scattered with the touch of humans, and she follows the roads to where they lead. One leads to the other side of the island, curving back towards the center. The road becomes a path, a path that takes her through a ribcage, but after tapping the bones she finds that they are fake. It leads her to a clearing full of buildings, the largest is an entrance hall. Inside, there are paintings stretching over one of the walls.

This was supposed to be a research facility, she knows, a park for academics and scientists. Unlike the other park, Jurassic Park.

She remembers a lot of the things the people said when they thought she was not listening.

There is a smaller laboratory in another building, the adjoining stables full of bones and rotting things. A functioning facade, she thinks with a hard click of her claws against the floor, nothing like what they were doing in the place they made her.

She finds another room called a Gift Shop, and laughs at the things within. There are piles of soft, squishy things. Toys, she learns, and maybe she remembers having something like this when she was very little. After finding a bag, she stuffs it to the brim of the soft toys. They are dusty, but she likes them.

She drops one that looks like the raptors to the pack on her way back. They sniff it and dance around it, unsure what it is, before the younglings charge in and tear it to shreds.

There is no meat within, only a white fluff. She laughs as they whine and claw it from their mouths.

In apology, she give them a whole dryosaurus the next day – sans one limb for herself.

The alpha eyes her, and snorts, biting off a section and sniffing the innards before letting the young near it.

Time passes, and everything grows.

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She nearly gets eaten by the spinosaurus one day.

The big girl finds her chasing a flock of compsognathus. One moment, she is bouncing around the squawking group and flicking their green hides with the backs of her talons, the next a snout full of teeth is snapping shut a hair from her nose.

She rolls to the side, bursting into the fastest sprint she can manage. The spinosaurus roars and gives chase. Her heavy steps shudder in the ground, her hunger taints the air. Big, dangerous, beautiful.

She changes direction and lunges for the nearest tree, scrambling up using her claws before the spinosaurus can turn around. Her legs are strong, and she bounds up and up and up.

"Missed me," she laughs, legs and tail swinging even as her breath comes hard and fast, "I will call you Alice."

Alice roars and snaps her teeth.

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The same day that Alice tries to eat her, she slips and falls from the trees.

It would not have been alarming, had she not fallen near the raptor nest.

Instead of scrambling to her feet, she slowly looks up, and the alpha is no more than an arm length away. Her eyes are yellow, and watchful. She slinks closer, head high and neck arced.

She shivers, croons in her throat and keeps her teeth hidden. No challenge, no aggression.

The other raptors circle, clicking curiously and sniffing. They have never been this close to her before.

The alpha sniffs, snout pressing to her temple, and she holds still, nearly trembling.

With a huff, she backs off and lazily settles down by her nest.

The other raptors investigate now that their alpha has deemed her not a threat, and she carefully sits up. Noses bump against her, teeth flashing when they chitter, and she cautiously chitters back. Bored, some go back to chewing on bones, and when she stands, they merely watch her leave.

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She comes back, and they remember her.

She smiles.

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The alpha only chuffs when she drops in to play with the young now. The other adults wriggle and play with her, perhaps thinking that she is a raptor too, only a very strange looking one with a human face. The regular pack members sometimes leave with her, run with her, chase fish through the shallow creeks or herd the compsognathus in circles until they wobble and fall over.

She is not pack, but she is a playmate.

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A raptor, she calls her Sickle, trots along at her side as she goes back to the laboratory, the real one.

The building is slowly being reclaimed by the forest, vines twisting through the hallways like veins. She has come to collect the clothing she had hidden away, that which she wears now is tight and uncomfortable.

She hates this place.

"I was made here," she says, laying a hand over the raptors neck. The scales are hard but warm. She loops her arm over completely and presses her face into that warmth. "You were made here."

They were not born, she knows. They were made. In tubes, in needles, in computers.

One, an attraction. One, a weapon. Both, experiments.

A skeleton in a labcoat with the hem torn off lays in her path. She kicks the skull across the room.

Sickle sniffs at the bones, snorting, and moves on. She follows the raptor into the next room, and scowls.

Sickle clicks her teeth, nose pressed to one of the few glass containers left unbroken. Within is an embryo of another like her, but dead. _Defective_ , they had said. Spines sprout from a misshaped, humanoid face. One arm is huge and twists over on itself. It is small.

Sickle croons, tilting her head and peering at her. She realises that a high whine is building in her throat, and forcibly stops the noise. A tightness sits in her chest, and she finds a warm wetness sliding down her cheeks. It is not blood that comes away on her fingers though, but salty liquid.

She hates.

She smashes the glass with a rock and gently wraps the body in a blanket once the liquid has drained. She buries it at the base of a tree, tapping Sickle's snout when she gets too curious and noses the disturbed dirt.

"I am sorry," she says, "I will call you Dawn."

She carves the name into the tree.

Sickle stays with her for hours, and when she tries to leave, the raptor grabs her shirt with her teeth and pulls. She pulls and pulls until they are back with the others. The young squeak and circle her feet, jumping into her arms when she crouches. Sickle croons and settles down to sleep.

The alpha chuffs, watching her with the young but making no move to separate them.

She laughs, and sleeps with the younglings sprawled over her that night.

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A hunt goes wrong.

The ceratosaurus disturbs the herd as she stalks a young gallimimus that wanders a little too far from the fringes. The sudden roars and bleats give her little warning, and then they are upon her.

She runs, ducking, dodging, leaping. A triceratops nearly skewers her, and she has but a moment of time to think that she will make it, when a tail slams into her side. She careens forward, landing wrong and something in her chest _cracks._

Pain swallows her senses, pulls her apart with cruel hands until she cannot breathe. It hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_. A shriek is strangled in her throat, for she has not even enough air for that. She shudders and whines, darkness clouding until she blacks out entirely.

When she wakes, it is quiet. Eerily so.

Fear is a bitter, sharp taste on her tongue. The grass planes are open, she is exposed here, alone, weak. She calls for help when she cannot stand on her own. It may work, it may not. The pack tolerates her, but she is not one of them.

The alpha responds, her call ringing out from the silent forest.

She nearly chokes on her own relief.

Sickle is the first to find her. She stamps her feet and flicks her tail, barking in distress. The others slide through the grass, circling and searching for danger. They smell her blood, and Daisy, the beta, slips closer. Her snout hovers over the skin scraped in the fall

She keens, stomach clenching and lungs hiccupping. Broken ribs, she thinks, or maybe fractures.

A scream blisters from her when Daisy bumps her chest. Sickle lunges forward and snaps at the beta, forcing her way in between the raptor and she. It starts a fight, the two raptors snapping and hissing at each other.

The alpha barks once, loud and sharp, and the pack skitters back. Slowly, the alpha comes to her side, nosing her arm until she slings it over a strong neck.

"I think," she gasps once she is on her own two feet and not threatening to vomit all over the raptors hide, "I will call you Queen."

They try and herd her back to their nest, but they do not have medical books and first aid kits. She leads them to her cabin with a few encouraging chirps. Only after she has slowly made her way up the ladder and is inside do they leave.

She had left this morning before the morning dew had even evaporated, and now sunset turns the sky orange.

There are books about bones, books about healing, stacked in one corner. She flicks through them, and hopes her lungs have not been pierced and the breaks are clean. It is agony to feel the bones and press her fingers over the purpling skin, but she has too know what and where. Two breaks, she guesses.

The diagrams and descriptions are enough, so she binds her chest like the instructions say, stops herself from vomiting long enough to secure the bandages, and tries to sleep.

Agony greets her in the morning, in the night, all the time. She eats even if she feels no hunger. The raptors cry out for her sometimes, and her replies are strangled and weak, but they hear them.

Days go on, the full moon thinning into sliver through her window, then growing round once more. Eventually, she can move without crying out, without doubling over and feeling short of air. Taking deep breaths still hurts.

She climbs down for the first time in an age, feeling weak and wobbly, but determined. There are piles of rotting flesh to greet her. Some very old, some perhaps fresh as yesterday.

A giddy feeling burbles within her, like bubbles. Laughing hurts, but she does it anyway.

Later, she will bury or burn the rot. Later.

She bathes in a creek, rubs her skin with sand until it is pink and clean before reapplying the bandages, and picks fruit from the bushes. The berries are tart, not quite ripe, but she is starved for something other than dried meat and candy.

Dark chocolate is nice. The other candies are too sweet, make her teeth hurt. She is thinner now, once strong limbs soft and ill-used from her wound. She will get strong again, once the bones are whole and healthy.

She makes her way to the pack, and calls out once she is near the nests. Their responses are immediate and send those happy bubbles racing around her chest again.

Sickle is the first to find her again, then the younglings stampede in after her.

She sits and welcomes them into her arms, tapping their snouts when their teeth pinch a little too deeply. Sickle's breath pushes her hair everywhere, and she chirps at the chittering young while the other raptors take their inspections. Queen clucks a lot.

After a while, Queen calls for a hunt. Most of the raptors leave with her. Sickle stays, and together they guide the young back to the nests. She has done little, but she is tired, and goes to sleep amidst them.

When she wakes, it is to the others returning with meat for the young. Daisy drops a hind-leg, clicking and nosing the young from their sleepy pile. They swarm they food with chirrups and bird-like peeps.

She is surprised, even remembering the offerings scattered around her tree, when Queen drops a hunk of flesh before her. The raptor does not move until she picks at it curiously. It smells like gallimimus.

The raptors watch her as she collects some wood for a fire and pulls a lighter from the little leather pouch she keeps strapped to her hip. The smoke startles them, as do the little flames. She soothes them with a croon, and only keeps the flames long enough to cook the meat. Uncooked meat upsets her stomach, she has found, nor does the texture appeal to her.

Full and happy, she leans against Sickle and goes to sleep.

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Bones heal. Dinosaurs grow.

She grows too, until she is taller than even Queen. Her tail stretches longer and longer, until it is the same length as her legs. The hatchlings that were once many are now only few, and have grown like her. Jinx, River, and Night, she calls them. They learn her human words, know the words are individual to them, and respond.

There are no humans for her to talk too, but still she talks. Her words are her own.

Alice chases them sometimes. The raptors are too fast, and she can climb into the trees, dart through the branches even faster with her tail for balance now. Alice sulks and stomps off with an empty stomach every time.

She tries dropping a portion of her kills to the spinosaurus, just to see if it works. It doesn't. Alice eats the meat, then still attempts to eat her. Still, she will feed the big girl from time to time.

The pack is her pack. They run, they hunt, they play. Together.

They are free.

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The ocean is wide and blue, glittering. The other island is out there. Jurassic Park, she had seen painted on the walls, on the toys she had lined up neatly in her cabin. A place to explore, a place outside of time.

A place of death.

Two islands, she knows. This, and the other.

Jinx bumps her elbow. Sickle nips at her tail. They still want to play. She has stopped and stared at the ocean for too long, they grow bored.

Sickle purrs and rubs her jaw along her arm. Giving in, she scratches the raptor under her chin. Sickle rumbles deep in her chest, content for the moment. Jinx snorts and takes off after the birds further down the beach.

She feels is before she sees it. A heavy _thum thum thum_ pressing in on her ears. She knows this sound. Her chest squeezes.

"Jinx!"

The raptor halts and looks back, confused and showing it as she shuffles.

Barking her distress, she pushes Sickle into motion and bolts for the cover of the forest. Jinx darts in after them, just as the helicopter rounds the bend. It is black, with InGen stamped on the side.

More soon follow, many more.

She hates.

A hiss trembles from her lips, teeth pulled back into a snarl.

They are back.

She has to find out why.

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The pack squabbles in distress when they return, perhaps sensing the storm of fear and anger sitting in her chest, and call after her long after she has climbed into the trees to shake them.

Queen calls out once, not angry, not commanding.

They are confused.

She runs on.

Alice sleeps in her den, does not wake when she vaults over the sleeping spinosaurus via the trees. She runs on, past the brachiosaurus herd and around the triceratops. The gallimimus see her and panic, but she hardly pays attention.

The first helicopter circles the herds from high up. Watching. Preying.

She hates.

She runs.

She has not come to this portion of the island for some time, as the tyrannosaur pair stalk their territory carefully. The pack does not come here. Her pack, at least. There is another that calls this place theirs, had moved into the visitors centre some moons ago.

They try to eat her, like Alice.

They were made in the laboratory she calls a façade, a lie, she thinks, remembering rows of broken shells with fragile skeletons in them.

She heads around their territory, watching the tall grass for hungry eyes and flicking tails.

Eventually, she comes to a cliff, stilling when she hears the roar of cars and trucks.

Below, a clearing, full of the other herds. They are all panicking, of course.

A sneer curls her lips when the humans work through the herd like the pack, singling their targets out and closing in. Little bikes weave through the dinosaurs, then the trucks come in, people spilling from them waving guns and nooses.

She hates. Feels it fill her like fire, fill her mouth with ash.

"This is wrong. This, this is so wrong."

Crouching at the voices, she watches as two more humans dart under her tree and peek over the cliff edge. One takes photos, the other mutters obscenities. A lot of obscenities.

Her old guards had like words like that. Especially when she fought, kicked at her cage, shrieked like the raptor they had spliced into her DNA.

The herds cry and panic, but these two seem distressed by the calls, seething against what their kind is doing to the dinosaurs.

She does not know what to make of them, so when they leave, she follows.

They lead her to a small campsite set near another cliff edge, though this one marks the edge of the island.

There is a man who gestures with his hands around a lot, another sighing and talking with him in a mild tone, and a child.

She stares at the child. She was that small once too.

This girls does not have claws though, nor tail nor spikes nor the eyes of raptors. She is human, they all are.

Yet, she does not hate.

"They're trapping them like wild horses and not dinosaurs," the woman raves, pacing. "They have no idea what they are dealing with. We have to stop them."

"And, uh, how do you propose we do that?" the man is dark clothing says in return. "We have nothing but a radio that doesn't work, your lucky backpack, and Eddie and his special dart full of shellfish poison."

"Kelly could cook them all dinner. Knock 'em all out for a week."

The child huffs and folds her arms over her chest. "Not funny, Nick."

Nick chuckles and ruffles her hair as he walks past.

She is confused. The raptors treat their young like this, gentle touches and play, but humans don't.

Not with her, at least.

 _I made you. You are mine._

"Hey, not to be rude, honey, but shut up for a second. Do you hear that?"

"What, Ian?"

"The birds," he says, eyes dark and flicking everywhere at once, "the birds are silent. That usually means something dangerous is around. Eddie, please be an action hero with that special dart of yours."

This Eddie already is peering around, rifle following where his eyes seek.

The child is pulled behind the man in black, Ian she thought he was called, and they retreat closer to the metal caravan.

She could say hello, she muses, claws drumming softly against the bark of her perch. It would be interesting to talk with someone that could talk back. They would fear her though. She is not human.

She stays in the tree, hiding from even the birds, and settles in to watch.

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The people she chooses to watch are interesting, and different from those she has known.

They released the trapped dinosaurs upon the men that captured them, caged them, treated them like things.

They saved the hatchling with a broken leg.

But the hatchling hurts, and called for its parents.

They have come.

The tyrannosaur roar, long and deep. The people scream, dangling over the cliff, and Eddie tries to save them. She isn't sure when she decided to climb down from the tree, but she has. There is broken glass under her feet, but no breathing tube in her throat, no people in white coats bleeding out on the floor.

They might not be good people, she tells herself as she stands out in the open like an idiot.

The man in the car yells as the roof is torn free, metal shrieking, but Eddie does not try to run, he stays.

He stays, and one of the tyrannosaur opens its maw great and wide-

It takes her a second to realise what she has done, and by then it is already past the point where she can leave without being seen, as the rock sails true and hits the tyrannosaur square in the eye.

The mother pulls back, away from the car, and bellows. Her eye spasms, twitches from the rock.

"No point in turning back now," she mutters before letting her own roar shake in her chest. It is a bold sound, not unlike the sound her claws make when she drags them over metal, and full of challenge. Her teeth are bared.

The tyrannosaur turn their giant heads towards her, uncaring of the car squealing back and forth between them. The caravan is pulled back another inch.

She lets out second challenge, louder and shriller than the first. They take a step forward, and she snarls, but her mouth pulls up into a wild thing, a flash of teeth that used to scare the man who drew her blood.

"Fuck," she says, because the guards said that when she bit them and it seems fitting.

At least when Alice tries to eat her there is only one giant carnivore snapping at her tail.

She breathes. She runs.

They give chase.

She runs and runs and runs until her lungs heave and burn, until her ribs ache where they were broken. Still she runs, even when the tyrannosaur stop following her.

That was stupid. So stupid. Yet she can't stop smiling.

She laughs and scales the nearest tree. The rain washes her skin free of sweat and mud. Her heart bounds in her breast, nearly louder than the thunder of the storm. Up, up, up she goes, until the branches are almost too thin and bend under her weight.

She can see a line of people far away, lights dotting their silhouettes like stars.

Helicopters once again fill the sky the next night.

She waves goodbye.

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Seasons pass. Alice grows bigger, her sail tall and giving her away when she tries to hide in the water.

Sickle and she are exploring one day, and they find a boat.

It is new to this island, nothing InGen about it. Blood is streaked over the deck.

The low tide and lack of rain has partially beached it, so they manage to leap aboard with little issue. She does, anyway. Sickle lands in the blood and slips over, sliding over the deck and falling over the other side.

She laughs when the raptor squawks and stubbornly tries to climb aboard again.

The boat is wide and old, a small fishing trawler she thinks. She finds a dead gallimimus in the storage space below, nooses still around its neck and ankle. A dozen compsognathus rouse weakly from three cages strapped down on the other side. There are two dryosaurus in a cage, already dead.

She hates.

Smashing the locks is easy, watching the little green dinosaurs eagerly swarm over the gallimimus carcass is not so easy. A tightness grows in her chest when she sees that they have eaten their fallen already.

Growing ill and unsettled by the sight of the cages, she returns above deck and explores the cabin. The key is still in the ignition, switched off. She takes it, and will add it to the ring of keys she keeps in her cabin. After digging around she finds a dusty, stained manual for this boat.

After finding some rope aboard, she leashes the boat to the largest tree she can reach. The tank is three quarters full, and there is a map tucked between thin, shiny books with naked humans in them.

The map has her island circled in red. There are words in another language scrawled beside them. A list, it seems.

There is another island circled as well. Bigger. The other island, the park.

She will keep the map with her keys.

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The other pack attacks them during a hunt one day.

River and Daisy are the first to be hit. River is killed almost immediately, and Daisy is dead before the others can help.

Queen screams, and the pack is at her back.

In the end, she remembers little beyond the storm of fury and pain that fills her blood, sends it roaring in her ears. Her skin is slick with red. It is her own. It is her packs. It is her enemies.

She hates.

Sickle keens, nosing Daisy - who doesn't respond, never will. She curls her arm over the raptors neck and cries. She knows what it is now, crying. Queen stamps her feet and calls her pack together. Those that remain answer the call, and go home.

She stays.

One eye is swollen shut and the lacerations over her skin burn, so it takes longer than it should to dig the graves. It is not something raptors do. She is not a raptor, and she has to remind herself this sometimes. Nor is she human.

She is both. She is nothing. She is new.

For each hatchling that falls to illness, or simply does not survive, she digs a grave. Stones mark their little lives, names scratched in white.

She has dug many graves, scratched many names into stone with her claws.

Sickle returns when the sun begins to descend. The raptor does not understand, though she prowls a wide circle around the graves and watches the forest. The last of the graves get dug shortly before nightfall, and her pack is put to rest.

Five stones. Five names.

The other pack is left for the birds. The scavengers. The insects.

Sickle croons, cautiously approaching and rubbing her jaw along her shoulder. Soft growls purr in her chest. She pushes Sickle away.

"I wasn't strong enough," she says, even though the raptor does not understand. "They're gone."

The long gouges that ribbon down Sickle's grey hide are stark and red still, but scabbed over already. The raptors were faster, stronger. They had more than two fangs, mouths that could open wide and tear prey apart with ease. Her little claws were nothing, her teeth blunt and useless. Feeding the pack was one thing, defending it another.

Sickle rumbles, tensing and shivering, little clicks resonating in her throat.

"Goodbye."

She runs.

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Stronger, she thinks as she stitches the wounds shut in her cabin, hissing at the pain, I need to be stronger.

She goes back to the place she was made.

The guards had knifes strapped to their belts, she remembers, and seeks out their bones. What she finds is rusted and useless. The security room though…

She would grin, but she hurts too much. The slice over her swollen eye sings with every breath. Her stitches are uneven, but hold the skin together.

The key for this room is not one she has used before, having never needed to come here, and it takes some jiggling before it works. It is worth it though.

The guns she cares not for. Loud, cumbersome, useless. Knives are better.

She finds them scattered over a shelf, spilled over the surface as if a desperate hand had scrambled for one and knocked the rest askew.

Some have straps attached to their sheaths, and she ties one to her thigh, another her arm. These will be her fangs.

There are books here too.

The chair creaks and puffs a cloud of dust into the air when she sits and thumbs through a book on how to use knives, another for weapon maintenance. Knives, unlike fangs, need to be sharpened. She finds the tools and takes them too.

She should have come here sooner. Instead of playing, chasing the compsognathus, teasing Alice, she should have been getting stronger. Learning. Growing.

A pack is only as strong as its weakest member.

Humans are weak. Raptors are strong.

"I am neither," she says, voice trapped in this room amidst the dust and bones, "I am me."

Saying that used to mean more.

Sickle is waiting for her outside.

She hisses a warning when the raptor steps closer. Confused, Sickle wriggles and clicks her claws against the dirt. She feels like crying when the raptor warbles cautiously, head tipping to the side.

"No," she rumbles, filling her chest with the deep sound until it spills out and forces a wall between them. "I do not belong with you. Not anymore."

Words don't mean much to one that does not understand them.

Sickle was always a little too bold, and ignores her warnings until she can press her snout against her chest.

She cries, winds her arms around the raptor and keens softly.

"I will get stronger," she promises, "I will come back."

Scales are warm, and she presses closer until their pattern is imprinted on her skin like the tattoo on her shoulder. Sickle's heartbeat is strong. She will miss her.

When Queen calls the pack home, Sickle returns alone.

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She bathes quickly, gathers her things, and leaves. She runs on and on, noisy and rushed. Alice spots her, and chases, snapping at air until she gets bored and lumbers away.

She goes to the dead packs territory.

The nests are trampled when she finds them. Perhaps this is why they attacked Queen's pack, perhaps not.

They are dead. It does not matter.

The forest becomes a clearing, a small one, and a building sits on the far side. Backed with a cliff, and surrounded by high fences. None of her keys work on the gate, but she does find a hole and worms through it.

There are no bones in the building, only dust and echoes. The aviary sits below, nestled in the valley, shadowed by the cliff and half buried in early morning fog. The birds are quiet. She briefly wonders how many human skeletons are in there. Remembers Alice chasing them here, hearing some of the people with guns screaming to hide in with the birds.

It doesn't matter.

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Her wounds become scars, her fangs become dangerous, she becomes stronger.

She finds a dead man in a tree.

A cord is wrapped tightly around his neck. Red stretches above him, a sheet with _Dino-soar_ printed on it. The smell is of set-in decay, skin beginning to stretch from bloating.

She finds footprints in the earth below him. Smaller than hers, but hers were once that small too.

Why do people bring children to this island?

The scent only just lingers on the small orange, squishy…thing a few feet away. A pile of old vomit is swarmed by insects beside it.

She picks out the tracks and follows.

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She finds a boy in a tree. Not dead. Sleeping.

No. Not sleeping. Crying. She can hear the hiccups in his breath, see the shudder of his shoulders.

He is small, filthy, covered in scratches.

And crying.

Tightness knots in her chest. Her mouth presses thin.

She should leave.

She throws a rock at him.

With a cry, he flails and nearly falls from the tree.

"Who's there?" he calls, voice shuddering. "Help. Please, I need help! Anyone?"

She does not know if he will be afraid of her. He should.

She throws another rock. He twists, scrambles down the tree. She throws another, and he follows the sound.

She smiles.

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The boy settles in one of the old water trucks after gathering supplies from the small outpost she lead him too. He learns not to question her presence over the next few days, but he does learn to pick it out.

"You know," he says one day, mending a tear in his jumper, "the birds go quiet when you're around."

She sniffs, remembering the last person to say that, and waits for him to go to sleep. She sets down a dusty blanket with bundle of food bars outside his little truck. He starts leaving wooden carvings in the spot she leaves things.

One day, he breaks, and so does she.

"My name is Eric. Just, come out, please? I think I'm going crazy. Just…just come out. Please. I-I-"

He starts crying. Folding down and pressing his hands over his eyes.

"I promise I won't look. Just. Just sit with me."

The tight knot in her chest winds and winds until air scrapes down her throat dryly. Swallowing, she listens to him crying, sniffling. She huffs, banging her forehead against the tree a few times before beginning to hop down.

She lets the pebbles click and clack under her feet. He stops breathing, but does not lift his hands from his eyes. Sitting down beside him is harder than she thought it would be. There is still an arm-length between them.

"You're real," he breathes, voice breaking, "you're _real_."

She blows a snort through her nose. Of course she is real.

"I'm not crazy."

The guards called her crazy sometimes, when she spat and growled and hissed at them.

He breathes out carefully, pulling his hands away and scrubbing at his face. His eyes stay shut.

"Who are you?"

For how often she talked to the raptors, to Alice, to the fire she cooks her food with, she finds it near impossible to actually talk to someone, a human, who can understand what she says.

Is this fear?

"Wait, no, you don't have to ta-"

"I am me," she says, sounding far calmer than she feels.

"You can talk. Oh my god. Can I look then?"

"No," she growls. "Why did you come here?"

"The truck? It was you that lead me here."

"The island."

"Oh." He sniffles, hugging his legs and resting his cheek on his knees. "My uncle was trying to, I dunno, _bond_ with me. Thought seeing some dinosaurs would be pretty cool. We hired these guys to pull us along behind their boat, parasailing." He sighs, long and sad. "Something went wrong. Now I'm here."

A sad, little laugh crackles in his throat.

"I still haven't seen any dinosaurs."

"There used to be raptors here," she muses.

"What-" he jerks, twisting up and eyes open. He blinks, stares, forgets his fear. "You have a tail."

She isn't sure what makes her curl a little, bring her tail closer around, but she does, and she growls a soft warning.

"And claws. And your _feet-_ " he stops, and looks at her, all of her. "My name is Eric."

It is her turn to blink.

"What's your name?"

She frowns, confusion burbling in her chest. "You are not afraid?"

"Is that why you hid? Nah, you bring me food and blankets, and that knife. You're cool." Scooting around, and faces her fully and grins. "Name?"

"I am me. I have never needed a name."

"What do I call you then? Hey you with the tail?"

"It doesn't matter. Get your things."

She stands. He scrambles.

"Why?"

His eyes are still red from crying, afraid and a little wild. She looks down and snorts how Queen so often did when the younglings played a little too rough.

"Do you want to stay here alone, or with me?"

She doesn't run. He follows.

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Compared the living with the raptors, living with Eric is…weird.

He is soft. He is quiet in a different way from the raptors, who are only silent when hunting. He has things called nightmares that wake her sometimes. He tells her about a chicken that crossed the road once. She did not understand, even when he explained what jokes are.

He reads her books, treats them with care, and tells her about Jurassic Park.

"It was on the other island, Isla Nublar," Eric says, chewing on his stale chips. He refuses to eat dinosaur meat. "They tried to cover it up, but when a t-rex smashes half of San-Diego people start calling bullshit and demand real answers. They go looking for proof."

"Like you."

"Yeah," he sets his chips down, rubbing the residue between his thumb and forefinger, "like me."

She goes to say something, but feels heavy footsteps through the ground. Soft trembles, calm steps. Big girl comes.

"You're smiling. Why are you smiling? Did you pretend to give me wild chicken when it was really compy again?"

"Alice is coming." She nudges him to his feet and pushes him to the observation floor above. A window spans the entire wall, circles the room completely. They will see.

"Who is Alice?'

She laughs, quietly since she knows how good Alice's hearing is. "A dinosaur."

They crouch behind an upturned desk, for Alice's sight is also acute, and wait. Eric holds his breath when he feels the tremors, and only exhales when the trees begin to shift. Alice ambles from the forest, lazily snapping at the birds she disturbs into flight. She rubs against one of the trees, nearly snapping it in two, and continues on once the itch is satisfied.

"She's gone," she says once it is safe to talk, and Erin giggles. It isn't a sound she has heard before, only read about in her books, but the noise seems to fit the word.

"She was huge," Erin grins. "I can't wait to tell-"

He falls silent, and she wonders what she did wrong.

Eric retreats into one of his bouts of sadness for the rest of the day. He is better when he is out on the island exploring with her, wild and happy and curious about everything. Here, he thinks too much and reads the silence instead of her books.

He doesn't speak again until dinner.

"I miss my mum."

She says nothing.

"Do you miss yours?"

She licks her teeth, tongue lingering over her canines. "I do not have a mother. I was made. Not born."

"Wait, like the first dinosaurs?"

Rumbling softly, perhaps too quietly for his ears, she says, "How else do you think I was created? A human fucked a velociraptor?"

"Pretty sure that wouldn't work." His cheeks redden. "The, um, the dinosaurs here and on Isla Sorna, they were made using frog DNA to make them viable."

"I don't eat bugs."

"Frogs eat more than bugs."

She hisses softly.

"Fine. No frog. But…why are you here then? Why did they leave you here, alone?"

For a moment, she hears glass shattering, sees the fluid rush away from her body as she falls, feels dozens of needles and monitoring pads rip from her skin. People are screaming. She smells blood. A mask is strapped over her face.

She blinks, and she is back. "The raptors escaped during a storm. The island was abandoned."

"And you?" he pushes, exasperated and curious. He devours her books like she did, thumbs through the still legible notes from the cabinets pressed against the walls. Curious thing.

"I do not know," she answers, tail flicking. He is used to her tail now, doesn't accidently step on it anymore. "Once, they said I was worth a lot of money, so they did not put me down when I was sick."

Eric frowns, brows twisting up and mouth pulling down. He does that a lot. "After listening to Hammond on the news…I dunno. Something doesn't feel right." He thinks for a while, then declares, "Right. We're going exploring tomorrow."

She hums, clicking her throat inquisitively.

"You are gonna take me to their labs."

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Walking through the trees with Eric is slow. He fears falling too much to bound along like her, though he also lacks a tail for balance and claws for grip.

After a while, growing impatient and pained at their pace, she carries him on her back and runs the rest of the way. Eric shrieks a lot.

"Quiet," she grumbles after leaping between two trees and he cries out, nearly strangling her with his forearms, "this is the packs territory. They will hear you and come looking."

He tries to be quiet after that, muffling shrieks into her shoulder when he cannot. They make far better time like this.

The building is undisturbed, the dirt free of tracks and lingering scents. She does a quick perimeter check before calling Eric down from the tree.

He sees _Dawn_ written on a tree. The scratches smooth and no longer pale, but still visible. He looks at her, and does not comment.

She hands him her keys, and they go inside. It has been some time since she was here, yet the hallways remain bitterly familiar. She guides Eric to the offices, to the laboratories, and waits.

"There are a lot of bones in here," he says, wide-eyed and a little green.

She sneers at the skeletons draped in rotten labcoats and body armour, but gathers them and dumps them in closet.

When she asks Eric what he is looking for, his reply leaves her even more confused.

"I read these books by a guy called James Patterson," Eric says, taking a moment to blow dust from a folder, "they were about a group of people who did genetic experimentation on humans and animals."

A warble burbles in her throat. She hops down from a desk and trots closer, waiting.

"There were these kids, with wings and powers. It was pretty cool. Can you camouflage? Read minds?"

She snorts. "No."

"Woulda been cool. Anyway, these kids…they were made to be, like, weapons, super-scouts, stuff like that." He fiddles with the binders peeling cover, avoiding her eyes. "That isn't something Hammond would have approved."

She isn't sure what to think. She knows that she is dangerous, but she hardly obeyed her creators. Too smart to mindlessly follow, too angry to submit.

"I just think that," he swallows, finally meeting her eyes, "that if I can find proof of what they were doing here, I can bring this to him if- _when_ I go home. You can come with me. He'll keep you safe from, from people like this."

He smells nervous.

She has read about cites in her books. Tall buildings called skyscrapers and lights that never dim. Cars and crushes of people and noise. Endless noise. It does not sound appealing, and she hates the idea of being around so many humans. Humans judge, the poke, they pry. Eric is one, one of many, but he is different.

Outside of this island, there are thousands, millions, billions.

She breathes.

"I am not human."

"Maybe," he shrugs, "but you're you. You're one-of-a-kind."

It pulls a little laugh from her. Eric grins, and goes back to pawing through dusty notebooks.

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"Is your name Six?"

"No," she rumbles, hating that word, that number, "I do not have a name."

Eric huffs, uncaring of her displeasure, and blows his cheeks out with how heavily he sighs. "What can I call you then? 'Hey you with the tail' isn't working. It's a mouthful."

Groaning, she rolls to her other side and ignores him. He begin listing names alphabetically, and she gives up trying to sleep by the time he begins working through the G's.

"Fine, pick a name and go to sleep."

Eric rubs his hands together. "Jane," he declares, looking proud and pleased and…happy, "how about Jane?"

"As in Jane Doe?"

"I was going with Tarzan and Jane," Eric explains, buzzing with so much glee that she can't help but smile. Even if she is still perplexed by his behavior most days, he is kind always. "It fits. If we swap the genders and replace apes with velociraptors and throw a little James Patterson in."

Jane, she thinks, is my name Jane?

When the light is too dim to read without squinting, Eric carves her something new. When she first brought him here, he had grinned when he saw the little cluster of sculptures in a neat row on a shelf.

Sleep is far off now, so she watches as the wood is shaped into a raptor. Blocky, exaggerated, and simplified like the squishy toys in her old cabin. He puts it on a string for her to wear around her neck.

She wears it with pride, but he is the only one to call her Jane.

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Eric is decent enough at tree walking now that she fears not leaving him alone. He knows the reach of Alice's jaws, and makes himself a wreath of vines and leaves to disguise his scent and presence.

He does not return one afternoon.

She paces, rumbling and warbling as the evening grows darker. Her tail lashes a from side to side.

Night folds over the island completely.

She runs.

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She should have waited at home, for after finding many trails and a body mauled by the pack, she hears Alice roaring and follows the obvious trail the spinosaurus has left behind.

Alice bellows, rams against the doors to her home.

She freezes, prepares to burst from the trees and call Alice away like she did the tyrannosaur, but Alice gives up with a low growl. She stomps off, jaws snapping irritably.

She waits until even the footsteps fade. She runs.

The doors are locked, so she climbs up to the roof and slips through one of the broken window panes.

"Eric," she calls, distress nearly twisting it into a keen. "Eric?!"

She hears other people, but does not stop herself from leaping over the railing and searching for the boy.

"Holy-"

"What the fuck?"

"Stay back-"

She ignores the man who pushes a struggling Eric behind him and darts around until she can see Eric properly.

"I'm fine," he blusters, unresisting as she spins him around and inspects a scrape on his palm, "I'm fine really."

She blows a harsh breath through her nose. "You smell like smoke."

"Oh my god," a man with an odd hat says, low and horrified.

"Tail," the younger man beside him wheezes, " _tail."_

Eric pushes her hand away when she tries to nudge him behind her with a soft growl towards the new humans. "Stop it, they aren't InGen."

"Oh my god," the man with the hat says again.

"Eric, baby, what is going on?"

"Mum," Eric says, and she blinks in realisation, unbending from her aggressive stance. The women is fair, afraid, and she and Eric have the same nose. "This is Jane. Jane, these are my parents, Dr Grant, and Billy."

"Dr Grant?" she flicks her tail, aware that many eyes snap towards the motion. "From Jurassic Park?"

His eyes are wide, unblinking. "What the hell did Hammond do this time?"

Eric watches her, steady, serious. "I think we should sit down and talk."

"The raptors are hunting us, staying still would be a very bad idea," Dr Grant goes stiff, shoulders tight with anger, and the man beside him, Billy, shies away. Their eyes come back to her though, watching, staring until she feels her skin crawl.

"Jane?"

She resists shifting when Eric turns a pleading glance upon her. With a grumble, she says, "Alice is stalking a perimeter. She knows you're in here. Queen wouldn't let the pack come here, not without reason."

The people ripple, eyes darting to Billy. Billy appears about to cry.

"Is there a reason for them to hunt you into another predator's territory?" she rumbles, dangerous and low. She may not be pack anymore, but…

But.

"I took two of the eggs," Billy admits, flinching when her dual claws slam down against the metal floor. She hisses, low and hollow.

"Hey!" Eric shouts, darting forward before she can lunge for the man, pressing a hand to her sternum. "I know what that face is. Back down, Jane. It was a mistake, we can fix this."

There is nothing even remotely human in the way she snarls, baring her teeth, tail lashing from side-to-side. Eric is undaunted, the others tremble. Good, let them. Let them quiver and shake in fear. She is not human, she never will be.

"Jane," Eric lets a thread of worry into his voice, but it is not for himself, for the others, for his family, "please."

She looks down at him, this boy, her friend. Her only friend.

Letting out a breath that rumbles a little too loudly for Eric to be pleased with, she subsides.

"Give me the eggs," she says, flat and hard like the metal underfoot, "I will return them."

"Are you insane?" Dr Grant steps forward, eyes darting to her feet and hands. It is almost as if he cannot meet her gaze, fears it. "They will not hesitate to kill you."

"Queen will not let the ones too young to know my call harm me."

"You can communicate with them?"

Grant looks breathless. The fear has dwindled in the face of…of awe.

She doesn't know what to do with that.

Uncomfortable, she tries to roll the tension from her shoulders. It does not work, unsurprisingly.

"In case you have not noticed," she says evenly, holding herself tall, "I am part raptor. They were my pack once. They will recognise me. The eggs?"

Grant seems to shake himself, slipping the small bag at his hip free and passing it over. It feels absurdly light, and after checking that the eggs are indeed within, she slings the strap over her shoulders.

"Don't let them do more stupid things," she tells Eric. He laughs, looking brighter and happier than he has since she found him curled up in a tree. "I should be back before midnight."

He is leaving, she knows.

She will not stop him.

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She finds Alice is dozing, trees hiding her from view as her sleepy eyes remain on the doors of the observation deck.

She had left through the back door, scaling the cliffs until she was well away from the clearing and can climb a tree. She runs on until Alice cannot possibly hear.

She takes a breath, and calls them.

Her barks ring out into the emptiness of the forest. She does not call for help, but she calls out her distress, and they respond.

As always, Sickle is the first to arrive.

The raptor circles the tree, wriggling until her whole body trembles, excited warbles singing in her chest. She hops a circle around the tree, calling her down.

Mindful of the fragile eggs, she climbs down and quietly waits for the raptor to approach how she sees fit. Still warbling, she sniffs her chest, her hair, the bag. The bag earns a sharp snap of her jaws, but when she pulls out the eggs and gently sets them down, Sickle croons, nosing the shells.

"Oh, Sickle," she breathes, pressing her cheek against the raptors warm muzzle, stroking Sickle's neck, feeling the scars she had not been able to prevent, "I missed you."

The rest of the pack slips around them. Some chitter and bark, curious and wary of her but seeing the eggs. Queen comes closer, white hide clean and beautiful.

Sickle steps back, clicking and chuffing as the alpha checks her eggs.

"Hello, Queen," she says, remaining still and unchallenging.

Queen rumbles, and moves from sniffing the eggs to her. Hot air pushes through her hair, deep draughts pulling her scent into the raptors lungs.

The alpha steps back, taking one of the eggs carefully into her mouth. Another raptor, one she does not know, scoops the other egg up. Most of the pack are young, only half grown, but it means the pack is still strong.

Queen and the other take off. All but Sickle and Jinx follow them.

The raptors whuff and dance around her like they are hatchlings again. She laughs, slings her arm over a warm neck and pressing her face into Sickle's warmth. Jinx rubs her jaw along her shoulder, purring.

"I am stronger," she says, nuzzling into Sickle's rough cheek, "but I think I can become stronger still."

Less harsh than the first time, she pushes Sickle away, towards the pack.

"Go," she says, kinder and softer. This is a word they know. Sickle watches her, long fingers flexing.

After stroking their jaws, pressing firmly so that they feel it though their thick skin, she nudges them away again. Jinx trots off, calm and easy.

Sickle lingers, watching for a few heartbeats, and then she goes.

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They are eating when she returns. Not the gallimimus, she notes with a little amusement, but the pheasant and ramen soup Eric makes sometimes when she digs through the old vending machines and finds unspoiled goods.

Grant and Billy are thumbing through the notes Eric had carefully brought here from the labs, and only startle a little when she drops in from the second floor this time. Eric's mother spills her water and Eric's father chokes on his food.

She smirks, a little, and Eric rolls his eyes.

"Everything go okay with the pack?" he asks, holding out a bowl of the soup. It is plain, without the flavour packets. It never tastes like chicken, no matter what the bright lettering says.

"Fine." She sets the bag down by Dr Grant before accepting the bowl. "How are you planning to get home?"

"We did have a plane. It crashed." Eric's father mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. There are dark rings under his eyes. "And the spinataurus thing ate my satellite phone."

"No idea, basically," Eric translates with a shrug.

His mother snorts into her drink.

The food smells good, the bowl warming her hands, but her stomach feels too tight to accept any of it. "Can any of you navigate a boat?"

They look surprised by this, and finally Billy hesitantly clears his throat. She barely refrains from rumbling at him. "I've done some sailing, powerboating. Do you know what kind of boat it is?"

She stares levelly at him, long enough that he flinches when she does speak. "A fishing trawler. The manual is behind you, the yellow book."

"Even if we can't sail it," Dr Grant rubs his thumbs along the rim of his hat, "there may be a functioning radio on board."

"Sounds like a plan," Eric's mother says with relief.

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They all try to sleep. Eric is snoring quietly, but his mother has yet to drift away. She stares at him, gently running a hand through his hair from time to time. She cries silently for a while.

Eventually, stands and walks over to her.

"May I?" she gestures to the table she sits on. The humans were adamant about having someone on watch. She is too restless to sleep yet, so she watches until another wakes to take over.

She makes a soft noise in her throat, nodding.

After she gets comfortable, the woman folds her hands together. A fine tremor winds through her fingers, she notices.

"Are you afraid of me?" she is quiet in respect of those that sleep below.

"No. Not anymore. I wanted to thank you, for protecting my baby."

Her face twists in very human confusion. "Eric is not a baby."

She is surprised when a little laugh falls from Eric's mother. "To me he will always be my baby boy, even when he is grown and has babies of his own," she says, brushing hair from her eyes, "and he will get to do that one day, thanks to you."

She isn't sure what to say, so she says nothing. Curling her tail tighter around herself, she waits.

Eric's mother eyes her tail. Not with fear, not with repulsion, but with sadness. "Eric told us about-about everything. He wants you to come with us."

She has kind eyes, surrounded by freckles. There is a softness to her voice that she has not heard before.

"Will you? For what you did, you will always be welcome in my home." She reaches out, but thinks better of it and settles her hand back into her lap. "It might be difficult, at first. But Dr Grant thinks that Hammond, the man who founded all of this crazy dinosaur stuff, would never have agreed to…well…"

"To making something like me?" she finishes, brows rising. She is picking up too many of Eric's mannerisms. But it seems to help communicate with these people.

"Well," her hands lift, make a funny flipping gesture, and fall back into her lap, "yes."

She has nothing else to say to that, lets silence wrap around them. Yet, when Eric's mother stands words tumble from her before she can stop them.

"Eric's mother," she says, and the woman stills, perhaps out of sheer surprise. "I did not have a mother, and never wanted for one. But I am glad that Eric had one as kind as you to raise him. To raise him still. He is a good person."

"Call me Amanda, please," she sniffles, though tries to be quiet about it. "Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Amanda."

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"There is ferry, or something, down there," Dr Grant says, peering through binoculars and pointing at a grey square down below, "it would be safer to ride that to your boat, at least."

"We would need to cut through the aviary to make it before nightfall," she says, perturbed with the idea of it, "and that is not a good idea."

"Aviary? They made giant birds too?" Eric's father blurts, the hair on his upper lip twitching. "Insane. All of them, insane."

"We're on an island full of giant lizards, and it's the oversized birds that's the final straw?" Amanda crosses her arms and twitches a brow up.

"You ran a perimeter this morning, right?" Eric says, nudging her ribs with his elbow. "Alice still around?"

She nudges him back, two knuckles digging into his shoulder. "Got bored waiting for us and went after the herds."

She rifles through her books, searching for one of the maps she had found that shows the island in detail. The people press close so that they can all see the map, their proximity nearly has her shrinking away. Hiding her unease, she smooths the map over the table; it creaks threateningly under the pressure of her hands.

Using a talon, she marks where they are, tracing their possible path as she speaks. "We can take the long way down to the river and double back for the barge. Or not double back and continue on."

"And what do you think we should do?" Eric's father asks, honesty in his tone, "You've been here longer than any of us. I'd say you know the island and its inhabitants better than anyone else alive."

"A fair point, Mr. Kirby," Dr Grant tips his head, and all eyes are on her.

Eric snorts into his hand when she remains frozen. She flicks his nose and huffs.

Raptors don't ask for opinions. This is weird.

"Alice likes to hide in the water and surprise her prey. All of this," she circles a portion of the island, including her home on the very edge and the river snaking through the aviary and beyond, "is hers."

"And your boat?" Mr. Kirby nods.

"Up here." She taps a spot a good days walk ahead. "Alice rarely goes up river. Depending on your pace, we'll be there sometime after dark."

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The humans make an abominable racket when they walk.

Where she softly pads over the undergrowth, they manage to find every twig and crunchy leaf possible with their heavy boots.

She wants to run. She wants to leap through the trees.

Instead, she has to walk.

It's agonizing.

"Go for a run," Eric says, laughingly and cheerful. He nudges her towards the denser forest. "We'll be okay. I know what to listen for."

"Call if you need me," she says, and with a grin, she runs.

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Eric calls for her. Shouts. Screams.

She runs back, heart beating against her ribs and the place where they were broken aches acutely.

Sound alone identifies what is happening. A dilophosaurus attacks the humans. Only they have such a trilling call, such a high note to their cries. It sounds fully grown. She runs faster, and sees Billy dart forward, shielding the others.

"Run!" Billy is shouting as he swings a branch at the snapping and snarling dinosaur. "Get out of here!"

"Billy-" Dr Grant shouts, scooping up his own branch, but his next words are drowned by her challenging cry.

She has a fang in hand as she leaps for the dilophosauruses exposed side. It shrieks, bucking and snapping at her. She digs her claws in, blood spraying her with wet warmth as she climbs higher and slams her dagger between its ribs.

It shrieks again, and pain explodes lover her tail as she is bitten and yanked away.

She lands heavily, rolling and scrambling to her feet. Lungs seizing from such a landing, she sucks down air and lets another challenging rumble build in her chest. Standing, she moves between the predator and its prey.

The dilophosaurus hisses, crouching and snarling. Its teeth are red, red with her blood.

Raptors shriek, and then Sickle and Jinx are suddenly there, pouncing on that which hurts her.

For a moment, she is stunned, then, with a grin, she charges.

The dilophosaurus is twice as large as the raptors. Her raptors are strong though, and they prevail.

It ends with her dagger buried to the hilt in the dilophosauruses eye, and she stumbles away with painful, heaving gulps of air. She presses a hand over her ribs, feeling the uneven bumps of the breaks.

Sickle and Jinx are a little battered and breathless, but otherwise fine.

"Eric?" she calls. "Amanda? Dr Grant?"

"Up here," Eric calls.

They are all in a tree, high enough to avoid snapping teeth, and watching with variations of horror and amazement.

"Holy shit," Billy breathes, a camera in hand. Grant has a hand on his shoulder, his knuckles white and eyes wide.

A nose presses into her shoulder, warm air gusting over her skin. She turns and rumbles, cradling Sickle's head with her hands. "Thank you," she says, and smiles when the raptor rumbles in return. Jinx chitters and pushes in for her own pats and gratitude. "And to you as well, Jinx."

Jinx warbles, tilting her head so that her hand press deeper. She laughs.

Sickle sniffs at the bite on her tail. It hurts, so she warns the raptor off with a low hiss, drawing her tail closer to herself and inspecting the wound properly.

"You okay?"

Grumbling and scowling at the punctures, she replies to Eric with, "Fine. Needs to be stitched though."

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It takes a while to convince them to come down from the tree, their eyes glued to Jinx and Sickle as they eat their kill.

Eventually, after Eric wriggles away from his mother's grip, they clamber down after him, breathing sighs of relief when the raptors merely go about their meal. This isn't their territory, and they have their food. Her presence helps.

They move along, Amanda and Eric helping Mr. Kirby along as he limps.

"You can communicate with them," Dr Grant appears to have trouble breathing, "oh my god."

"You say that a lot," she says, sniffing out one of the shallow creeks that feed into the river. Alice was determined some days, and might chase fish upriver if she was in the mood. Best to avoid the deep water and stick to the shallows.

"It's just…all we had was bones, and while bones tell us a great deal, it doesn't compare to seeing this. _That._ Even what I saw at Jurassic Park doesn't compare."

She side-eyes him. "Eric read your books. Saw your interviews. You called them genetic monstrosities, not dinosaurs."

"Most of the dinosaurs I've encountered have tried to eat me. Forgive me if I'm a little biased."

She snorts, tail twinging when she flicks it.

"Will they come after us?" Billy trots up to Dr Grants side, and whatever wall that was between them earlier seems to have crumbled with a stern if trembling _don't you ever do that to me again_ from the elder, "The raptors, I mean."

"Probably," she splashes into the stream where the others stop and fill their canteens, "they must have stuck around when the others went back to the nests."

"Aw," Eric props his face into his hands, "they miss you."

She splashes water at him before ducking under and scrubbing her face and hair. The cold makes her wounds sting at first, then numb.

"-ould sleep up there." She hears Billy saying when she resurfaces. "It's high enough, and Mr. Kirby sprained his ankle. We should kip out and take a breather, make the rest of the trip tomorrow."

Looking to where Billy gestures, she sees one of the trees that grows out rather than up. Where its branches spread out from the truck, a platform has been built in. It is like her old cabin, though unfinished.

Sickle slips from the woods behind them, quietly observing the oblivious humans before trotting into the creek beside her. Jinx is not far behind, and only when her playful splashing grows too loud does someone notice their new company.

Billy gets his camera out again, but Dr Grant grabs his belt and pulls him away. They dart to the tree and scramble up.

Ignoring the people, she washes out the scrapes on the raptors sides, cleaning the blood from their muzzles and claws while crooning soothingly. They hardly flinch under her hands. When she is done, they settle down under a tree.

She climbs up the tree, and finds that Eric has a needle and thread ready. She grimaces, and he does the same. "I can do it myself," she says, not liking another's hands sewing her skin together. Pain from people is different.

"Your stitches are horrible and uneven," Eric rebuts, not appearing pleased with himself but determined.

She rumbles.

"Sit," Eric demands, jabbing a finger at the space beside him.

She sits, though not without a loud huff.

It hurts, a lot, but she has sewn her own wounds together before and endures it with a grimace and a clenched jaw.

"Done," Eric declares at last.

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Sickle and Jinx rouse sometime in the night, and she climbs down the tree and curls up between them to calm the two. They purr, and it is like being buried beneath a clutch of younglings again. She smiles, and lays her hand over the snout of Jinx when she lays her head over her hip.

This is home, she thinks, they are my home.

She knows Eric wants her to leave, and so to do the others to a degree – though not for the same reasons.

She can't go.

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There is a slight commotion when they wake and find her asleep with two raptors curled around her, but after Eric sighs and deals with the drama, they are on their way again.

"They killed Udesky," Billy rubs his jaw, watching with undisguised intrigue as the raptors chase butterflies and dart circles around them, "they set a trap. They chose to kill him."

"You stole their young," she explains, snapping her teeth and flicking her tail. The bite sings with pain, and she settles. "They were protecting their pack, their home."

He shuts up, and goes back to walking beside Mr Kirby, whose limp is gone. Good. The raptors would have sensed the weakness, become curious.

"It is the mistakes of others that lead to people dying on these islands," Dr Grant muses aloud, a bitterness souring his tone. He shakes his head, and sighs. "Hammond would never have approved of weaponising the predators, let alone the labs playing with human DNA. Eric showed us the paperwork, what's left of it anyway."

"My home is here," she says, quietly so that Eric will not hear, "I am not human."

He is quiet for a while, and she appreciates silence. All predators appreciate silence.

"No matter what you decide," he eventually says, "I will be taking these straight to Hammond and having a long talk. People might come here, I just want to warn you."

She snorts, a warning rumble building in her chest. "To find me? To finish the work they started?"

"Absolutely not," he remains calm, though she can see his pulse jumping wildly in his throat, the sweat building on his skin. It smells acrid, like fear. "Hammond will want to do right by you."

"And what will that entail?" Disdain colours her words. "Another lab, another cage, more people prodding and poking and looking at me like I am a thing. I am me, and I will not be a number again."

The tattoo is still glaringly visible on her shoulder. Dr Grant glances at it, lips thinning and paling, before he meets her glare head-on.

"Hammond is a good man. Misguided and occasionally naïve, but good. He has the power to protect you and this island."

"How?" she snorts. "People have come here before, tried to steal the dinosaurs or hunt them for sport."

Sickle darts across the path, squawking as Jinx nips at her tail. They are only visible for a second, slipping like shadows through the trees. Grant stumbles, eyes wide. Billy must have his camera out again, for she hears it clicking.

"They're playing," she mumbles.

"Right." He clears his throat. "InGen came back here once, Ian told me. Did they know about you?"

"I don't know," she hums, "Ian, you said? Black hair, talks a lot, tall?"

Brows lifting, Dr Grant peers up at her and nods.

"They survived then." She scratches her jaw, remembering the screaming man in the car who did not abandon his friends. Eddie. "Good."

"Wait, did-Ian said he heard a raptor when the t-rexes were attacking the caravan. Was that you?"

"It was," she flicks her tail at his expression, "what?"

He starts laughing. Long and heavy, until he bends over and has to stop walking.

"I think you broke him," Eric comes to her side while Billy asks the man if he is alright.

 _Humans_.

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There is a round of cheering when they fiddle with the radio and get a signal. A voice on the other end responds, then more voices, and Amanda cries into Eric's hair.

A rescue is coming.

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Instinctively, she growls when the _thum thum thum_ of the helicopter grows. They cannot hear it yet, and warily peer around when they hear her rumbles. On the shore, Sickle and Jinx chitter, hearing the helicopter and remembering her distress the last time.

She doesn't hate. It is strange, to hear that sound and not feel the heat in her blood.

"The helicopter will arrive soon," she says, a heaviness settling in her chest as she looks at Eric, "I can hear it."

They breathe sighs of relief and start to watch the skies.

Eric watches her though, and Amanda notices.

"You're not coming with us, are you?"

His voice cracks. It has been a while since she has seen him cry.

She shakes her head. Cannot speak, for her throat works and is too tight for words.

Eric's chest shudders with his next breath. He darts forward, and she takes an unsure step back, but freezes when his arms curl around her torso. He is crying, tears leaking into her shirt as his arms wind even tighter.

"What are you doing?" she is stiff in his arms. Amanda looks very sad and the others shuffle awkwardly when she glances at them for clues.

"It's called a hug, it's how people say goodbye to someone they care about," Eric chokingly explains, and she tentatively pats his shoulder, "I'll miss you, Jane."

The helicopter grows louder, though still unseen, and she tenses despite wanting to soak up this last moment with her friend. Her only friend. Perhaps her last friend.

Her chest aches, though not like when the bones were broken. This is a different kind of pain, one that drove her from the pack when half of them were killed. Grief, she thinks it is called.

His arms tighten, then slacken. Eric pulls away, and she misses him already. The others are watching, some sad, some happy. Dr Grant nods at her, and Amanda waves with a kind smile.

She smiles, flicks Eric nose one last time. He manages a wet laugh.

"Go," he says, "run."

She does, calling the raptors to follow.

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Time passes.

The scent of human fades from the observation building. The bite on her tail becomes a ring of pale scars. She is alone some days, and finds that it is not as easy to be alone as it once was. It is not a home anymore, just a place, shelter.

She misses Eric. She misses talking and having someone talk back.

Sickle and Jinx stay with her most days, until the call of the pack pulls them away.

One night, when she is running her hands over and over the little wooden carving hanging around her neck, she leaves.

She gathers her most treasured things, and moves back into her cabin. The pack starts to circle her tree one day, Sickle calling her out with barks to come play. The other raptors don't know her, and it takes many snaps and growls for them to learn she is not prey, not an enemy.

Queen greets her with a rumble the soft press of her snout along her jaw, and that's that. The rest of the pack falls in line, settling and calming.

"I am strong now," she says, feeling curious hatchlings tumble into her lap once the alpha has made her acceptance known. "My name is Jane."

Queen purrs. Sickle croons and the others come closer to investigate their new pack mate.

Jane smiles.

Jane is home.

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Time passes, dinosaurs grow.

Jane visits the boat one day, even though she feels an ache in her chest at the sight of it. She comes around, and sees her name painted on the side. It smells chemical, and is bright red. Nervous and curious all at once, she climbs aboard. In the cabin, there is a metal case with _Jane_ written on it as well.

She stares at it for a while, claws clicking a steady _click click click_ against it while she thinks. Her heart threatens to re-break her ribs.

She opens the box

A bright yellow phone is within, along with a small bundle of books, and a letter sealed in a plastic slip.

She stares at the last for a while too.

 _My dear Jane,_ the letter reads, _my name is John Hammond._

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Feedback is everything wonderful in this world! If you enjoyed it, please let me know!

(I have no idea when Part 2 will be ready.)


	2. Part 2

The Burning of Rome

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I'm fiddling with the timeline between Jurassic Park and Jurassic World. Canon is a vague guideline at this point.

People have expressed interest in pairings. Jane is an aromantic asexual and will not be involved with anyone. I like Clawen though, so you can expect bits of that in Part Three.

 **Warnings** : Violence. Swearing. PTSD.

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Jane reads the letter.

She reads the letter, and feels like throwing up. Hammond says that Eric is okay, everyone is okay and healthy and made it back in one piece. But Hammond says a lot of other things too.

Hammond wants to meet her.

Jane leaves the letter and the case and the books.

She runs.

Jane runs until she is on the other side of the island, staring down at the ocean while scraping air down into lungs that feel too big and too small behind her ribs. The water heaves, white tipped waves beating against the rocks, swallows her fury.

Jane screams. She roars, shrieks, howls out a long sound that would find harmony in a storm. Rocks stab into her knees; she clutches the very edge of the cliff and screams into the ocean.

Jane burns.

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The case with the damning letter gets thrown into a corner of her cabin and left.

Jane hates.

There were pamphlets in the gift shop. A history of the park and the dinosaurs and _Hammond_ typed out amidst glossy photographs and cartoonish images. Jane knows who Hammond is.

Hammond is the one who began all of this, who made this a real thing with real consequences. He made her world, her raptors, her island. _Her._ He made it all happen with money and bugs preserved in ancient tree sap.

Humans play with life as if it is a game and they are a master.

She does not know why he wants to meet her.

Dr Grant had called Hammond a good man. Eric had called Dr Grant a smart man. Jane likes Eric, trusts Eric. Does that make Hammond a good man, Jane wonders, or does that make her a fool for trusting human judgement?

Jane sits in her cabin and pulls the case towards her.

The locks flick open at her touch. She picks through the books, finds copies of Dr Grant's and Ian's books amongst a dozen others. A note falls out when she cracks Dr Grant's book open. _Eric selected these for you, my dear. Enjoy!_ Her throat tightens, her hands tremble. The books are placed on a shelf, and Jane runs her fingers reverently down the spines.

She sits and looks at the books for a while, a warmth seeping through her bones that chases the cold that steals over her when she eyes the phone.

Jane trusts Eric. Eric trusts Dr Grant.

Jane picks up the phone.

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Hisses shiver in her chest as Jane watches the boat pull into the harbour. It is bright amidst the murky sunlight and fog that swallows the decrypt docks. Where the sun glares off the hull, making it glow and gleam, the shadows of the forest hide her. She shrinks further into them, glad for the width and height of the trees.

Jane stills, breathes, waits.

A figure dressed in white appears on the stern, a cane in one hand and a yellow rectangle in the other. Another figure comes up beside him. This one is familiar. Dr Grant still wears his odd hat.

The phone rings. Jane growls and hugs her ribs until the quivering stops in her hands.

Jane licks her lips, and answers. "Hammond?"

" _Indeed it is, my dear. Dr Grant is right beside me, would you like to speak to him and confirm?"_

"No," she says, "I see him."

" _Ah, you're here already? Very good. We shall pull alongside the pier and lower a ramp shortly."_

She puts the phone back into her pouch, touches each of her daggers to remind herself that they are there, and steps into the light. The day is unusually cold, moisture clinging to her skin from running through fog. The chill is fitting, for Jane feels so absent of warmth. A constant sweep of nerves knots along her spine and under her lungs.

Half-rotten wood creaks under her weight, but the pier stays unbroken. The boat slowly slips closer, eventually towering over her. It has been a long time since Jane has felt this small. Jane snarls softly, shrugs the intimidation away, holds herself tall.

They are just humans. She is stronger, faster, with claws and teeth and strength no human possesses.

And if she calls, the pack will come.

Once the ramp is lowered, Dr Grant ambles down and meets her at the bottom. The white clothed men retreat to the cabin, barely passing a glance her way.

"Never thought I would be back here," Dr Grant huffs, and up close he looks the same. Aged, but not old, pale eyes hiding a wealth of intelligence with a tired amusement. _Theme park monsters,_ he had called the dinosaurs in his book. "Not in 65 million years."

Jane tips her head to the side, cautious but curious. "Then why _are_ you here?"

The way he looks at her, brows dipping, makes Jane think that she should know the answer already. "Hammond said that you wanted me here." He adds with a benignly entertained laugh, "And he offered to fund my work for another few years. So, thanks for that."

Jane is not sure what to say, so she says nothing.

Dr Grant clears his throat. "Fair warning, there are a few other people on board."

Sourness fills her mouth, creeping from up her throat.

"It's a dozen people, including me. The boat crew and Hammond's medical team make up the bulk. They will all stay scarce." He watches the shore, not her. Gives her space, time. Or perhaps seeks the streamlined silhouettes of raptors in the shadows. They had awed and terrified him in equal measure before, she remembers.

For a little while, they just stand there while Jane glares at the lettering painted on the boat. _The Frontier,_ it is called. She doesn't know what she is feeling. Terrified, angry, nervous. Or maybe Jane is feeling them all at once and cannot tell them apart.

"Eric wanted to know if you liked the books."

She blinks, smiles, some tension leaks from her shoulders. "I do. I understand why he liked your book more than Ian's, Dr Grant."

This makes him chuckle, the corners of his eyes creasing.

Jane starts up the ramp.

Dr Grant follows. "Call me Alan."

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Alan leads her to a room below deck.

Jane stops at the threshold and is not the only one a little wide-eyed.

"Okay, now I'm convinced those photos weren't doctored," Eddie mutters behind the hand rubbing his chin. It is spoken quietly, as if only for the ears of the woman beside him. The woman that so carefully touched and cared for the hatchling tyrannosaur. Her hair is the colour of copper.

"I'm Sarah, and this is Eddie, from the expedition two years ago. Do you remember us?"

Sarah's smile is bigger on one side than the other.

Jane nods, silent. This room is strange and wide and absent of wildness. Scents are foreign, almost hurting her nose, and the floor is plush with rugs and carpet. This is like the room labelled _Break Room_ in the labs. Scrubbed of life, smelling of coffee and cleaning chemicals.

She listens for footsteps, watches for light catching the syringe of a needle, waits for a hand to pry at her skin for a vein. Stilling completely, Jane keeps her tail close and her legs tensed to bolt.

A figure in white stands, approaches – but this is not a doctor, not a scientist. Jane breathes. This is Hammond. He looks older, frailer than the photo in the pamphlet. He smells of flowers, and sickness. Hammonds smile is kind, soft, even if his eyes are terribly sad.

Eric trusts Alan. Alan says that Hammond is good.

Jane can do this.

"Hello, my dear Jane," Hammond says, "it is wonderful to meet you directly."

There is still space between them. That distance feels important, safe, so Jane hides her hesitance and pads further into the room. Silent steps, the steps of a hunter who wants to remain unseen, unheard. This place, this room, this boat has no scars, no tears or rends or burns. It is not the old buildings falling into ruin, or the rich forest. It is a fragment of the world beyond, a glimpse. Jane does not like it. She wants to run away from this, from them. In this place she feels alien, alone.

Alan sits. Jane stands, folds her arms. The chairs look too soft.

Jane's tail flicks, her claws flex restlessly. "Why am I here?"

"Mrs Harding?" Hammond goes, tipping his head and laying both of his hands over the amber sphere set as the head of his cane.

Jane wants to smash that sphere and every replica in the gift shop that she can find.

"This island is already off-limits to the public," Sarah begins, and her voice is nice. Not as soft as Amanda's, but steady, calm, "and as you know, that hasn't deterred everyone. There is already a black market for dinosaur parts. Dozens of adrenaline junkies and photographers are hiring skips to get even a glimpse of the animals. People are pushing for the right to see the dinosaurs for themselves. Others, others are calling to have them exterminated."

A rumble grows in her throat, loud and trembling and growing louder by the heartbeat. "What?" she snarls.

There is real fear in their eyes, a startled fright that she knows tells their bodies to fight or flee. Jane does not care.

"Jane," Alan says, calmly and quietly, the only human unaffected by her fury, "we're here to stop that from happening."

Hammond recovers quickly. "Precisely. Our goal is to preserve the freedom, and safety, of the wonderful creatures that call this island home." Hammond sighs, a hopeful if tired sound. "A sanctuary, is what we need. A protected reserve."

"Don't you own this island?" Jane forces herself to settle, to quiet the fire in her chest so that they might speak like humans. "Can't you just keep idiots from your property?"

"Normally, yes," Hammond provides, a funny little twist to his smile that speaks of resignation. "This situation is more complicated, unfortunately. While I own the land, InGen owns the dinosaurs. My grandchildren are not yet of age to have full control over their shares in the company, so there is little-"

"Hammond," Alan breaks in with a raised brow.

"Right. Apologies, my dear. Legal-speak is a terribly complicated language for even those of us that swim amongst the lawyers." Hammond chuckles, and Jane does not understand. Is it a joke, like Eric's chicken crossing the road? "To put it simply, my dear, there is no true authority to protect the animals. InGen would rather have them all destroyed than expend more money on what they deem a lost cause. My efforts will not stop them for much longer – certainly not if people come here and get themselves hurt. Lawsuits terrify them more than the dinosaurs themselves."

"So, a reserve?" Jane struggles to put together. Hammond uses so many words to say few things. "What does that mean?"

"Established and government recognised reserves make unauthorised visitation illegal, as well as outlawing poaching and scavenging." Sarah folds her arms, looking the same way she had when she was on the cliff overlooking a valley full of panicking dinosaurs being trapped by InGen's men. "It also means that the law would be on our side, which will deter most people, and send a message to those that get busted for ignoring it. "

Jane is silent, thinking, staring at the far wall. Slowly, she once again asks, "Why am I here?"

Though Jane calls the island hers, it isn't, not really. The dinosaurs have the right to live so long as the good will of others extends. They are all _property_. Even Jane. She does not realise that she has laid a hand over her tattoo until she finds the humans staring.

"My dear Jane," Hammond ages before her eyes, growing paler and sunken with every breath. "You can offer an insight into this island that none else can possibly have, and…and quite frankly, you are owed a great deal in the face of what my scientists have done. This is only the start."

Confused, Jane looks to Alan for an answer. His lips are pressed thin, eyes focused elsewhere.

"The other reason why we are here," Sarah very, very carefully begins, holding herself sure but betraying her true feelings in ways only a predator can sense. Jane is a good predator. She sees, smells, hears Sarah's nerves, Sarah's revulsion, Sarah's wrath. "Eddie and I need to get to the old laboratories. Eric told us that they are in the velociraptors territory-"

"Why do you want to go there?" Jane snaps. She hated bringing Eric there, walking those halls and seeing ghosts of herself. Jane is bigger than her ghost now, but those halls make her feel small again. Since Eric's visit, she has not returned, not even for more supplies or clothes.

Many _whys_ are being asked today, and none of them are getting satisfying answers.

"Easy, Jane," Alan murmurs, and she realises that she is snarling again.

She subsides, tail weaving with a false laziness.

"I have no idea what was going on those daft scientists' heads, nor do I know how it occurred right underneath my nose." Thudding his cane down, Hammond appears genuine in his ire. "After what your young friend Eric showed me with those reports…without knowing who began this project, I cannot guarantee that it will not happen again. I cannot find who is responsible and see justice done."

Eddie twines his fingers together, so hard that his knuckles turn white. Jane can smell his sweat. He has been silent, thus far, save the initial photo comment. Now, he speaks, and Jane listens.

"Look," Eddie lowers his hands, tries to meet her gaze, "what Hammond is trying to say is that we have no idea what they did, or who even who they are. The kid did a good job, but the more evidence I dig out of those old labs, the more we know about all of this. We need to get back in there. Preferably, without getting eaten."

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They want her to guide them, protect them. Show them her world. Show them the labs.

Four people. It feels like an army.

It only took one human to start all of this, to look into a ball of fossilised sap and play god. It may only take one to bring her world down.

Jane remembers the other boat, her boat, with its belly full of bones and empty cages. The buildings on this island grow more dilapidated and overgrown with plants and dirt every day, yet still the presence of humans stubbornly clings, digs its claws in and refuses to let go. And now they are coming back, whether she says yes or no to helping them, they are returning.

She rubs the tattoo on her shoulder. Tracing the number that had defined her, stripped her of agency. It is becoming a habit. She shivers all over, doesn't know why, and she cannot stop it.

 _I made you. You are mine._

Jane listens to the footsteps that follow her path.

Breathing is easier outside on the deck, with no ceiling above and no walls around her. Water slaps the boat with a rhythm of its own. None try to control the sea. Jane wants to be the sea, wild and free and unfathomable.

"Why did you help us?"

Clicks echo in her throat. Confused, Jane turns and watches Sarah for some clue. Sarah blinks, laughs. "You know," she says with that lopsided smile, "Eric tried to explain how you talk. I didn't really understand until now. Two languages, two voices, mashed into one."

That tells Jane nothing other than that she misses Eric.

Sarah comes closer, still leaving an arm-length between them, and has to look up to meet Jane's eyes.

"I meant with the t-rex pair. Dr Grant told us. You lead them away before Eddie…well, before they could finish defending their territory."

Jane looks away. "I called myself an idiot at the time."

"Most people do when they're risking their life to help another."

"Does that make you all idiots then," Jane says, "for coming back here?"

"Maybe," Sarah settles her hand in the railing. Fingers that are thin and unscarred curl over the metal. "Won't stop me from doing the right thing."

Sarah lets Jane think after that, not pushing, not pressing, just watching the shore. They all are giving her space, time. It relieves and angers her at the same time. What is the right thing, Jane wonders furiously.

Jane wants to hate Sarah, Hammond, wants to hate all of them.

Humans take what they want, do what they want. They are cruel and cold and break what they cannot control. But…

"You helped the hatchling," Jane admits, swallowing around her dry tongue. The shivers have stopped. "Promise me that you won't hurt the dinosaurs like InGen did. Promise you won't hurt my pack."

Steady and with something like fire in her eyes, Sarah says, "I promise."

But some of them are good.

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"Humans are coming," she tells Queen once Hammond's boat is long gone and Jane is home, clutching a purring youngling to her chest, "they are coming and I can't stop them."

Queen hums, tilting her head as if she understands. One yellow eye is watchful, at ease, calm. The alpha is a soothing presence. Jane leans against her warm side. Queen noses her hair, crooning. Shivers tremble Jane's bones again. The youngling squawks, feeling her flighty heartbeat, and Jane thinks that she will call him Demon.

"Demons scare humans," she rubs his snout, annoyed at the way she cannot speak of breathe properly, "I will name you for their fear."

Other raptors pile around them, curling over each other, herding the young into the centre of the circle of claws and tails.

"I said that I would help them," Jane confesses, drawing into a tight ball as tails and heads drape over her legs and hips, "I think I did the right thing."

Queen hums, and the raptors sleep.

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They arrive in helicopters.

Jane watches as the noisy machines lower trucks and other things to the earth. InGen is not stamped on the side. InGen is not even involved beyond offering their support for Hammond's efforts.

They have chosen one of the few still standing observation buildings as their base. It is little like Jane's former home beyond structure and shape, built in the shelter of a small cliff and shrouded by tall trees rather than settled in an open field. There is no fence around this one, but a ring of pens instead that create a well enough wall between them and any of the larger predators.

This is a place she has been too only once. Jane remembers unlocking the gates, letting the herbivores loose while the raptors and Alice chased the humans from the island on the wings on a storm.

Few dinosaurs linger here now.

Jane had told them this, told Eddie so he could mark spots on his map using the GPS on her phone. She is helping them, has been while they prepared their machines and people and the monsoon season reached its end.

Protect the island. Protect the dinosaurs. Protect the pack.

Jane can do this.

Hidden from sight, Jane waits in a tree as the helicopters lower their cargo. She recognises those four that will remain behind, but a dozen other people spill from the sole helicopter that lands, unloading supplies quickly and setting up equipment.

There are so many people. She presses close to the tree, until the bark bites at her skin. Only when they are gone, mechanic thunder faded to nothing, does Jane stand.

Eddie is setting up a strange cage-like-box in one of the trees. It is leashed and tied and bolted into the fork of the greatest, widest tree, and anchored to the base.

Jane makes her way over to get a closer look.

Eddie is oblivious when Jane slides in behind him silently. Now, Jane can see that this box thing is made of metal and canvas. There are cameras attached to the frame, pointing in every direction, connected to the little screens lining one of the low walls. It all seems rather flimsy. The monsoons might destroy it within a season.

"What is this thing?"

Jumping in fright, Eddie screams.

The others shout, alarmed. Calling out his name again and again until he responds.

"It's alright. I'm fine!" Eddie calls to them, clutching his chest. Ignoring the shouts, Jane peers at the screens. They are all tuned to see heat. A flock of compsognathus scatter through the old pens, little bodies bright yellow and red instead of green. It is strange to see the forest in the hues of fire.

"The hell, man? We only just got here and you're screaming already?"

Eddie groans.

"Do me a favour, kid," he says, "and sneak up on Nick. Screams, tears, the works. Make it happen."

Jane tilts her head, unsure if he is being serious or not. "My name is Jane. Not kid."

"I-yeah. Okay. Jane." Eddie blows out a sigh. "Wait. How'd you get up here? Did you _climb_? Hey. _Hey_. Don't start pressing buttons. They aren't set up yet. Go, go make sure the others aren't being eaten, or something."

Jane smells sweat, sharp and salty. His pulse still skips, flickering at his throat even as his hands remain steady.

"Is it the island making you nervous," Jane asks, "or me?"

The question hangs in the air. Eddie fumbles, coughs like is he choking on water. The reaction leaves Jane wondering if she should have asked the question, as the answer may leave her angry or hurt or regretting even agreeing to help the humans. Spoken things cannot be taken back.

Jane looks away, dismissing the conversation with a flick of her tail. The answer does not matter, the question does not matter. The only opinion that matters to Jane is her own. She is her own and always will be.

"What are you _oh shit wait-_ "

Jane laughs as Eddie shrieks and dives for her, but she is already over the side and swinging down through the branches. She drops down before the others, grinning with teeth.

Nick screams and drops a box in his foot.

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"So-o, do you just make a habit of it to drop down from above when meeting new people?"

Billy twitches like he needs to be doing something with his hands. Jane ignores Nick's swearing and Sarah's laughter, watches Billy and his flexing throat and bright eyes.

He is wearing a t-shirt. On what skin is uncovered, there are stripes and patches of shiny scar tissue, pink and silver and white. Jane remembers when they were new and red, raw, weeping as Amanda fussed over Billy and Eric told them the stories behind his new scars. Mr Kirby had hummed and hawed, and Amanda had slowly grown paler and paler with each story.

Scars mean survival. Billy survived the island, and he has come back, for the dinosaurs, for the pack.

"Habit," Jane replies. "Alan said that you're smart. Apparently."

"Um."

"You came back." Jane says, slowly walking closer until only he will hear. "On this island, you nearly died, but you came back."

"Is that why you're doubting my intelligence?"

She rolls a shoulder, casting her eyes around the machines and boxes and equipment. "Humans confuse me."

"Honestly, we confuse ourselves a lot too."

Jane stares. Billy shifts, rubs the back of his neck. "You stole the eggs. For money. I don't understand that, and I don't understand why you are here." She says, "Alan asked me to give you a second chance. I don't know what that means."

A hiss slithers around the words; Jane does not like not knowing.

Billy has tears in his eyes.

"Alan," his voice cracks, "he, he asked you to give me…"

"Yes," she snaps her teeth, "what does it mean?"

"First impressions aren't always the best ones," Sarah walks up, lays a hand on Billy's shoulder, "giving someone a second chance means letting them prove to you that they can be better, do better. We all make mistakes. It is what we do after that shows how willing you are to make things right."

 _He will work for it. Believe me he will_ , Alan had said, _he did wrong, he knows that. Just, try not to growl at him. Not all the time at least._

Jane wonders if he had hurt Alan too.

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The old building is converted into, what Nick calls, a home away from home.

Nick is strange.

"Would you mind wearing this when you go tree hopping?"

Jane blinks. Nick holds up a small camera. It is quite small compared to his usual gear, fitting easily into his palm with room to spare.

"My design," Eddie interrupts. He still smells nervous most of the time, but relaxes when she asks about the less bizarre of his creations. "It's a body-cam. You clip it onto your shirt, strap the power pack on, and we see what you do. Keeps your hands free too."

Jane turns it over in her hands. The weight is almost nothing. "Why?"

Nick chews on a toothpick. "The kind of shots you could get me up there would be so god damn amazing. I wanna see if I can work it into the documentary Hammond's having me whip up."

Jane is mindful to not let her claws scratch the lens, even if she suddenly wants to crush it. "Will I be in it?"

"Nah. Magic of editing."

A lot of stuff Nick says is confusing too.

"He means," Billy says without looking up from his notes on the parasaurolophus herds they saw earlier, "that he can remove any bits of a recording that show you."

Billy tries to explain a lot of stuff. He is smart, in certain things, Jane is learning. He is trying.

"Think you could record some of the predators?" Nick rolls the toothpick over his teeth with his tongue. "Without getting snapped up, of course."

Second chances, Jane remembers.

Jane says yes.

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Upon arrival, Eddie had given her a microphone that sits over her ear and runs just above her jaw. The phone is noisy and bulky compared to this ear-piece, makes talking easer when she needs to move.

" _Where did you take off to already?"_

Jane does not answer Nick. She leaps higher and higher into the trees, getting used to the odd feeling of the little pack strapped around her waist. It is snug, not budging no matter how she moves.

On and on, Jane runs.

Until:

"Do you remember him?" Jane says, softly, as she looks down upon the sleeping tyrannosaur juvenile. There is a small scar on his leg, pale over the green.

" _Is that the hatching we nearly got pushed off a cliff over?"_

Jane hums.

" _He's so big,_ " Sarah whispers, a tremble in her tone, " _oh, oh my god, there are other depressions in the nest. The parents are still protecting him, aren't they? They're still a family group? Where-where's my pen? I have to-"_

There is a crash, a muffled curse, and Nick is laughing.

Jane looks down on the sleeping tyrannosaur that was given the chance to grow, to live, and smiles.

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Jane chases wild chickens with the pack.

After picking feathers out of the raptors teeth, again, she takes her own kill to the humans.

None of them know what to do with the carcass, so Jane guts it, de-feathers it, and makes the soup Eric liked to make with the wild potatoes and carrots.

Sarah looks at the soup, then at Jane. "Are you lysine deficient?"

"Do you feel sick," Sarah explains when she sees Jane's confusion, "if you don't eat certain foods for a few days? Fish, soy beans, peas? Or, well, dinosaur meat?"

Jane shifts, remembers when her ribs were broken and she could not hunt or forage. A strange sickness had sapped her energy, even after the bones were healed enough to move. "I was injured," Jane slowly starts, "and lived off food from the vending machines for a while. I felt…weak; some of my hair fell out. Is that what you mean?"

Paling, Sarah works her jaw like Jane does when she is angry but needs to be quiet. She comes closer, carefully takes Jane's hand and cradles it between her own. This is new. Touch it new with people who are not drawing blood or fitting masks.

"I know it sucks, that it is awful to even think of going back there," Sarah says, "but I need you to take me to those laboratories as soon as possible."

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A sour taste lines Jane's throat and coats her tongue persistently.

The car follows her as she runs above the old, crumbling roads. The humans are within, watching, waiting, while she leads them to her most hated place.

Eric was one person. There are four in the car. Nick has his camera.

Jane listens, watches, for the pack. This is their territory, the edges.

The ear-piece is over her ear. There is only silence.

"Wait," she orders when they slow to a stop, the face of the building is coated in greenery and the doors are broken and open. One hangs by a single hinge, the long gouges left by claws still clear as daylight.

Jane calls softly, sings for any raptors to show themselves. There are none near, and the pack always responds to her calls. She waves for the humans to follow. They do.

"Dawn," she hears Eddie whisper, "who's Dawn?"

"Three," Jane rumbles, traces the pale lines she had carved so long ago with her eyes, "she was number three. To them."

Eddie clamps his mouth shut, lips pale, brow beading with sweat. He is so nervous, lines around his eyes deepening. Is it this place or the threat of the raptors, Jane wonders.

"Let's go," Sarah takes the lead, voice hard though not unkind, "I don't want to be here any longer than we have too."

After scouting for any threats, Jane falls behind the group as they walk through familiar halls. Oddly, Billy stays by her side, never venturing more than an arm-length away. "Been here already," he says to the others, "seen all I needed to see."

Nick's camera flashes and clicks constantly as they make their way deeper into the complex. The next room is the one with the glass containers and incubators. Jane turns away, finds her chest tight. There is not enough air in the room. It should not affect her, but it does, and Jane hates.

"You wanted to know who the people were," Jane says so that she does not think on the times before, "there are bodies still here. Will that help?"

Stretching his arms overhead, Billy pops his spine and affects boredom. She knows better, sees the tight line of his shoulders. "Show me where they are and I'll let the others poke around for ID's. There's something I want to show you."

Curious about what this something might be, Jane shows him to the closet. It is marked with a giant 'X' in orange. Over the radio, Billy tells the others about the closet and that they will be outside. He heads for the car, pulls the something out with a grin.

"This," Billy holds up a black and white sphere, "is a soccerball."

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Soccer is a game that humans play.

Jane likes it.

She grins, kicks the ball back to Billy. She laughs, he laughs, and Billy shows her how to bounce the ball with her elbows and knees. It makes a bizarre, hollow sound when she kicks it, and Jane has been paying too much attention to this toy and not their surroundings.

Inquisitive hums too low for human ears reach her, a steady _bom bom bom_. Leaves rustle, so the raptor is not hunting. Jane does not kick the ball away when it comes to her this time. "Don't move," she tells Billy, calm as she coaxes the raptor out with the bark that means _come here_.

Billy goes very still as Sickle sleuths out, grey melting from the green, eyes trained on the human. Jane croons, beckons the raptor closer. She is not afraid, but cautious. Humans mean cages, but this human does not wear a white coat and smell like chemicals. It is enough to give Sickle pause, to wait, to see, to think.

Sickle hisses softly, hands flexing open and closed. She watches Billy carefully, scents the air, and comes to Jane's side. Jane runs her palm over the raptors snout, smooths down the shivering hisses in the raptors chest with a gentle but firm hand.

Sickle shifts, paces around Jane in a tight circle, head craning so that one eye always remains on the unknown.

"It's alright," Jane says, looping an arm over her back when she stills at last. "It's alright, Sickle. Friend."

Jane has taught them this word when Eric came to the island, so he would be safe if she were not there. _Friend_. It means Jane, means ally, means no threat. Do not harm.

Chuffing, Sickle lifts from her partial crouch and chitters. Jane chitters back, slaps her tail against the raptors hide. Play, Jane says with her movements, play with us. There is no tension in her muscles, no response to a threat. Sickle leans into her, reads this, and that is that. _Friend._

Jane nudges the ball, and the raptor sniffs it. With a kick, Jane sends it back to Billy. Startled, both Billy and Sickle squawk.

Jane laughs.

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Billy kicks the ball as hard as he can. It goes soaring, and Sickle gives chase with a delighted cry.

Jane watches from the steps. Nick is filming the two, already over his initial fear of the raptor. He is vibrating with glee at the scene.

Sickle returns, ball clutched carefully in her mouth. The raptors know how to be gentle, know what it means when Jane asks it of them. Like Jane, they love to learn.

"Gentle," Billy says, eyes wide and wonder-filled, "gentle, Sickle."

Sickle clicks, glances between Jane and the human that uses her name and her strange non-raptor sounds.

When the birds sing, the raptors go quiet and listen. Jane has learned to mimic the sounds, uses them to keep the raptors calm. Jane sings, Sickle copies the song for a moment, and then hops on the spot until Billy kicks the ball again.

"This is astounding. This isn't just a display of an animal taking orders. This is cognitive function comparative to, and maybe above, dolphins and apes. We always thought raptors were highly intelligent and social, but this is…beyond anything we even theorized." Sarah whispers as Billy flicks the ball high with his toes and Sickle darts after it. "She listens to you. Understands. _Responds_."

Jane fiddles with her thumbs, claws clicking together. "That's why they made me," her voice is quiet, she cannot look away from black and white and flashes of teeth. "I don't control them. They listen, they learn. I am not controlling-"

"I know," Sarah hushes quickly, "I know. Sickle is your pack, your friend. Friends listen to each other. It's okay."

They are seated close together, so Jane feels it when Sarah stiffens.

Jane blinks tears away, sees Sickle standing before them with the ball in her mouth. Sickle drops the ball, noses it until it bumps Jane's feet. She croons, sniffs at Jane's wet cheeks. Soft burbles of noise grow in the raptors throat, little chirps that are usually only used with the young.

Jane sniffs, presses her face against warm, leathery scales when the raptor rests her jaw on her shoulder.

"This is how raptors tell you they trust you, that they won't hurt you," Jane finds herself explaining. "That they know you won't hurt them."

Sickle purrs, settling onto her haunches and half in Jane's lap.

"Please protect them." Jane almost begs. "Please protect the island."

There is that fire in Sarah's eyes again, burning bright and hot and beautiful.

Queen's call echoes through the forest. Sickle huffs, nuzzling Jane some more before obeying the alpha. The raptor leaves, and Jane stands on legs that feel stronger, more grounded. Finally, Jane feels as if she has done the right thing.

She will help the humans, and they will protect the island.

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" _That's Alice?"_

" _Yeah, I remember her."_ Billy mutters. " _I had other names in mind when she was trying to eat us."_

Below, Alice one-eyes Jane. The spinosaurus grumbles a threat, but does not shift from her spot in the sun. Her belly is full, her muzzle still bloody. The big girl is lazy after a filling meal.

" _Are those scars from a t-rex?"_ Sarah asks. " _That's the only other predator big enough. We need to mark up the outlines of the carnivore territories and…"_

Sarah trails out of the microphones range, still talking.

Alice watches Jane. Jane watches Alice.

Alice yawns, and goes back to sleep.

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"-st a kid, Hammond! Fourteen years old! Nine when this place was abandoned. It mightn't look like it, Amazonian-sized as she is, but Jane is a child."

Hand hovering over the handle, Jane stops, listens to the shouts.

"Eddie, keep your voice down."

"Sorry, Sarah, but I feel that I have to shout for this to get through Hammond's skull. Jane is still a child. A child with a pack of velociraptors for a family and seven inch daggers as her toys instead of damn hotwheels cars. It's goddamned messed up."

"What exactly do you propose we do? Ship her off to America and send her to school?"

"Sarcasm is not helping here, Nick."

Nick snorts. "Much as I like the…the kid," he falters, gathers himself quickly, "she won't fit in anywhere. No matter how you frame it or explain it, most people are gonna see her tail and the giant killing claws on her raptor feet before they even bother saying hello."

Jane looks at her feet, flexes her killing claws. Her feet are like the raptors, dark and scaled and sharp. They make her strong, fast, and dangerous. She likes them, has survived because of them.

"Not to mention the other pile of shit we gotta deal with. You saw the film," Nick says, and she can imagine him leaning against something, arms folded like always, "the raptor responded to her, not just like a dog obeying commands, but actively responded. Those assholes wanted weapons, and they wanted her to control them. If they saw this, saw her? Shit, I don't even want to think about it."

"Leaving the child there alone is hardly an option." It is Hammond's voice, distorted slightly and tinny. They must be video-conferencing again. "Strong as she is, the island is dangerous. Even if the raptors are not a threat, these damnable poachers are."

"Enough, all of you," Billy shouts, louder than all of them. "Alright, Hammond, you're building another park? Fine. But you can't expect Jane to be comfortable coming to live there, surrounded by people, strangers. Working there, for Christ's sake."

"I was hardly going to offer her a job at the Starbucks, Mr Brennan."

"This is the only home she's ever known," Sarah adds, a gentle counterpart to the heat of the others. "I understand that you only want to help, John, but-"

Jane twists away from the door, glares at nothing. Air is hot in her chest.

She hears footsteps, is too angry to hide, so she is in plain sight when Nick opens the door.

He says nothing, and she does not turn to face him.

Eventually, Nick shuts the door, muffling the conversation Jane cares not to listen to anymore.

"Ah, screw it." Nick sighs, and soon a foul, thick smell curls through the air. Jane rubs her nose, eyes watering from the pungency. A glance tells her that he is sucking on a white stick, the end flaring with embers. "Sorry. I'll stand downwind."

The voices inside rise again. Jane scowls, stalks a distance away. Climbing up a tree, she sits on the lowest branch. Height is safety.

"I take it that you heard most of that." Nick says once he has apparently finished the smoke stick, coming to stand under her perch. "Thoughts?"

"This is my home."

"Yeah. We know."

"There is only me. I know others will be afraid of me. Eddie is afraid of me. Humans kill what they fear, what they cannot control. I will not be controlled."

Nick sighs. He climbs up the tree, falling and slipping more than once, until he is beside her. He slips again, and Jane grabs his arm until he is seated.

He thanks her, and Jane pulls away.

"Eddie isn't afraid of you," he says, and Nick's tone is like it is when he is editing his videos, asking her about the dinosaurs in the screen, telling her of his adventures, "he's afraid of what you represent. People using power they shouldn't, messing around with the DNA of people to make weapons? It's wrong. So fucking bullshit. And Eddie doesn't know if what we're doing is enough to protect you from the people that did all this. It's…complicated."

"If they come for me," Jane rumbles, and even she does not know if it is a threat or a promise, "they will die."

Jane jumps down and leaves before he can reply.

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As always, the pack welcomes her.

Jinx hops a circle around her and worms her head under Jane's hand until she scratches the back of the raptors neck. Chittering, Jinx tilts into the petting. The nests are being built up again. In some moons, there will be eggs, and in some moons more, the hatchlings will taste the air for the first time.

Jane wonders how many little graves she will have to dig this season. There are always eggs that do not hatch, hatchlings that die in their sleep the night they break out of their shells, younglings that struggle to grow and flourish. So many eggs, so few survivors.

Jane sleeps and eats and plays with the pack.

Yet, when Jane talks to the raptors, she finds herself waiting for replies they cannot give. The raptors speak in feelings and commands, in touch and movement and sound. They may learn her words and respond, but conversations are exciting, educational, revealing.

Jane tucks herself under Sickle's jaw, rests her head against a warm chest, feels a heart beat steadily against her cheek. Hums thrum down to her bones. All is quiet, all is peaceful.

That used to be enough.

"There is too much human in me," Jane confesses.

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Time slides around her, marked by hunts, ringing phones, and nights spent chasing glowbugs or bats. The moon shrinks, grows, shrinks again. Jane does not answer the phone, though neither does she let the battery die.

Jane is confused. She wants, she does not want. Hammond is building a new park, Hammond wants her to live in the new park, to work there. As what, Jane thinks darkly, an attraction? A handler?

Lips curling, Jane snarls at the thought.

Chittering, the raptors dart around her, unsure of her mood. They find no threat that could be the source of her agitation, and peer at her with nervous, shivering jaws. Queen chuffs, falls back until she walks beside Jane. The others peel away once Queen barks at them, Sickle lingering to nose her hand before leaving.

"I don't know what I want anymore." Jane sighs, pushing her lungs empty as if it will take the heaviness in her shoulders with it.

To want…it is a very human thing.

Queen sings, effortlessly mimicking the sounds of the birds. It is rougher and harsher in the raptors throat, though still sweet. Sickle has tried to learn, but this is the alpha, and this is a first.

Lifted with wonder, Jane laughs, and they know what this sound of hers is. It is happiness, glee, delight. A tail slaps her thigh, teeth nip at her arm. Joy fills her, trickling through her veins. Jane laughs with everything she has, loud and begging the others to come back, to join in, to play. They do, darting from behind trees and bushes. The younger raptors shriek, hop over logs and pounce upon each other with all the energy of a wild storm.

It is not often that the alpha calls for play.

They are free, and they are happy.

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Hunger grows louder as they play. A hunt is called.

The raptors and she slink into position, steadily picking their way closer and closer to the herd. Queen singles out a young pachycephalosaurus. This means Jane is the one to make the kill, for her daggers make for a clean, quick death. This prey as a dome of thick bone, has crushed limbs and crippled other raptors, leaving a long, painful death ahead.

The raptors have learned.

Jane climbs a tree, and waits.

Jinx screams, startles the herd. Alarms are bleated by the watchers, herds charging into movement. The earth shudders under their power.

Jane waits. The raptors work their way through the herd, snapping, snarling, and shrieking until the pachycephalosaurus is alone. Queen's new beta is faster than Daisy ever was, weaving in close and nipping at tail and legs with agility above the rest. Slate is grey and black, dark against the grass, a shadow made of scales and claws and teeth.

They are close. Closer.

Jane waits.

One strike, one kill.

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Later, once the raptors are full and settling down for a nap, Jane smothers the embers of her fire. Soot covers her feet, and she stares at the smudges for a while. Fire can take like, fire can give life.

Thoughts churn in her head, over and over and over again, until Jane decides that she cannot run any longer.

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Dust has gathered in her cabin; it has been some time since she has come here for more than the comfort of her bed and bothered to clean. She touches each one of Eric's carvings, then she sits, and thinks.

Eric trusts Alan. Alan says that Hammond is a good man. Hammond says that Sarah wants to help. Sarah promised to protect the island. It is a list that goes on and on and only seems to grow.

They all say so many things, and Jane does not know what to say back. Perhaps she should try.

Jane goes back.

She finds Billy outside, alone, sketching pictures of dinosaurs in his notebook.

"Come with me."

Billy flails, falls from his seat. "Jane?"

Yanking him up, Jane pulls him towards the forest.

"Where have you been? Why didn't you pick up your phone?"

There is hurt in his voice, so Jane stops and stares. This time Billy does not shift and avoid her eyes, he folds his arms and waits. She has upset him, perhaps frightened him. Raptors do not panic when she is gone for days, but this is a human, not a raptor.

"I heard you," she says, flat, "talking with Hammond about me."

Nick must not have told the others, for Billy flinches in surprise.

"Jane-"

"No," she interrupts, "no explaining. This is my world, my home. I want you to understand."

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Once they arrive, settling into the fork of a tree, Billy wipes sweat from his face and fights to steady his breathing. Tree-walking is new for him. Tiring.

She lets Billy gather himself.

"Now," he puffs, "now will you tell me why we're here."

Jane calls for them.

Billy goes silent, breathless, as the pack pours into the clearing below. _They killed Udesky_ , she remembers, but Billy does not appear angry or hateful. Hate has coloured her too many times for Jane not to recognise it in another.

Picking her way into the open, Queen stares at Billy, and the others watch for how the alpha will react. At ease, Jane lets her feet and tail dangle from the branch. The alpha chuffs, slowly paces a wide circle around their tree without looking away from the human who watches her with equal focus.

"Friend," Jane says clearly. "Friend."

Eventually, Queen snorts and trots off. Nerves are settled once the alpha dismisses Billy as a possible threat. Demon jumps and nips at Jane's lazily waving tail. She snorts, slaps his snout when his teeth snap a little too close. Billy folds his legs, keeps his toes well away from the edge. Jane hides a smile.

"He was in one of the eggs you stole."

Billy swallows, stares at the youngling as if searching for an answer. Guilt draws his shoulder in.

"The other never hatched, but neither did half the clutch."

Billy swallows again, and his voice is thick and creaking. "What is his name?"

"Demon. Stay here."

Jane drops down, and the raptors nuzzle her back and stomach, press against her. As always, Sickle chitters and rubs against her shoulder. They pick up Billy's scent on her hands, and draw it over their tongues curiously. Long, low trills echo from their throats.

"I will protect them. Always." Jane looks up, surrounded by raptors and teeth and claws. Wreathed in the protection of predators. "If I go to the other park will it help this island? If people can see dinosaurs, understand them, will they leave this island alone?"

"That's what Hammond is hoping," Billy manages to say, eyes so wide they may fall out. "He wants you to consult on the paddocks, if you're up to it. We can call him, talk over it some more. Visit Isla Nublar and take a look around when no-one is working."

Jane breathes.

"Okay."

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"Rinse and spit."

A bottle with bright blue liquid is pressed into her hand. It burns in her mouth, but chases the foul bile and taste of vomit away. She spits it out, eyes now watering not just from throwing up.

Sarah chuckles at whatever expression Jane wears.

"You're not the only person who gets motion sick. Flying is not for everyone. Helicopters are pretty rough rides too."

Jane groans, bent over the toilet, stomach still flipping.

A cautious hand settles between her shoulders, pressing along her spine in soothing strokes when Jane does not warn the touch away. It is a new touch, a strange one. Not unpleasant.

But suddenly, the fingers move a little too high, brushing the nape of neck, and Jane jerks, twists, snarls thunderously. She looks for needles, listens for the hum of the glass container being lowered, waits for the mask to be strapped over her face.

Jane only sees red hair and hears her name being called.

Jane. Not Six. Jane, Jane, _Jane_.

Well out of the bathroom, seated on the bed, Sarah waits. She is calm, steadily speaking nonsense and repeating Jane's name over and over and over again.

Jane breathes, finds her teeth are bared, claws up and waiting for flesh.

Jane stops, rises from crouching defensively. Rubbing the touch of ghosts from her neck does not settle her skipping heart. They are in the half-finished Hilton Hotel, not a laboratory. "Don't touch me," she glares, averts her eyes to the cream-coloured walls of the room beyond the bathroom. "Not there. Not from behind."

"Okay," Sarah agrees, serious, unsmiling. Still gentle, always gentle. "I'll wait outside. Come out when you're ready."

"No," Jane shakes herself, and all is well when she leaves the too white and bright bathroom, "let's go."

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"Kinda spooky," Billy mutters, "walking around here when it's deserted."

"I'll keep you safe," Jane says, but she too is casting her eyes around the skeleton of the new park with wide eyes.

"That…is actually rather reassuring. Thanks."

Flicking him a smirk, Jane scales a pallet of wood for a better vantage. They walk along what will become Main Street. Buildings stand half-formed, hollow but for their frames, in neat rows that lead to a giant bowl in the earth.

A mosasaur. Hammond wants a mosasaur, and Jane thinks that is monumentally stupid.

It never leaves her lips though, for Hammond is thinner than before, still smiling and chuckling and clutching his amber-topped cane. He smells of chemicals, of sickness, is confined to a wheelchair that Billy pushes along without complaint.

"Will the original generation be assimilated into the new herds?"

At Sarah's query, Jane hops down. Her claws click against the asphalt. She uses heavy steps, amused at the clicking.

"Unfortunately, no," Hammond replies, still smiling, though it seems sad, "exempting the tyrannosaur, the other carnivores have already been destroyed. Even the wee green ones. Peacefully, and without pain, I assure you."

They seem to have expected this, as while Sarah and Billy frown, they do not appear surprised. Jane feels rotten, and is glad to be at the rear of the group. Killing for survival, she understands. It is necessary. To kill without reason is useless, pointless. A waste of life. In part, Jane understands eliminating the threat of the carnivores, but they only posed a threat because InGen forced them to be.

Jane is confused.

"And the herbivores?"

"Kept to what will become the restricted section," Hammond sighs a weary sigh. "It is my hope that keeping them isolated from the new dinosaurs will satisfy the board enough to let them live out their lives in peace. At least, until Henry produces an effective sterilisation that does not involve surgery. The costs and risks outweigh the benefits, regrettably."

"If he can't, over-population and inbreeding will become an issue without predators to cull the numbers." Already, Sarah has a notebook out and is scribbling things down. She does that a lot, has little books stuffed in all of her pockets. "In under decade's time, they'll start starving to death because they have eaten all the food and can't migrate to give the land a chance to recover. Unless, you plan to assign caretakers to feed them?"

It is then, that Hammond's eyes find her, and Jane understands.

"Me?" Jane blurts. "A caretaker?"

"Not quite, my dear." There is that amiable smile, that delighted chuckle. He looks younger, brighter, if only for a few moments. "More like an overseer, or, yes, a handler, that will monitor the restricted zone. Also, perhaps a bit of consulting on the side? New dinosaurs will need to be observed and trained before they can be added to the more interactive attractions. Whatever you feel comfortable with."

Overwhelmed, Jane locks her knees to stop from falling. Tarzan left the apes, Jane remembers, Tarzan became only a man. Tarzan was always only a man though. Jane is always in between man and raptor. There is no decision for her. She is both, she is in between, she is the grey space made of black and white.

"No. No, I can't leave them." Jane insists, shaking her head. "I won't leave my raptors."

"And I certainly don't expect you to," Hammond says, "they can come with you, of course. Indeed, they would act as a countermeasure to the population issue Mrs Harding is so concerned with. Families stick together."

Faintly, Billy croaks, "I see why Alan called you crazy."

"Dr Grant is entitled to his opinion."

"Transplanting a pack of velociraptors, of all the-" Sarah makes noises after that, none that really form into words, and she waves her hands around for a while. She almost sounds like a raptor.

When she is somewhat calmer, Sarah says through gritted teeth, "This isn't Yellowstone and wolves we are talking about here."

"Of course. There are matters that need to be handled if that is to take place. Legal nonsense that protects you and the dinosaurs, velociraptors included. And," Hammond holds up a finger, quite serious, "there are conditions to this, which we can discuss over lunch with my successor, who is waiting for us back in the Hilton Tower."

Jane loosens, wary now. Conditions, whatever they might be, mean restrictions. This is to be a park, she knows, with thousands of people, children, visiting every day. And raptors are dangerous, no matter how gentle they are with her, or how tolerant Sickle is of Billy.

"We have spared no expense, my dear Jane" he goes on, eyes on her, kind but firm, "a third of the island can be you and your families new home, if you want it."

There is no decision, not really.

The alpha decides where the pack lives, and Jane is not the alpha.

She will not leave them, not even for this.

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Jurassic World.

Jane stares at the bones of the park yet to come.

The paddocks are large, big and open and admittedly better than what Jane had assumed. The pens and cages she remembers are nothing like what is being built now. These are big, huge. Not pens, but territories.

A third of the island is thrice the size of her packs current territory. Hammond has shown her a map, his successor, Simon, running through a list of the dinosaurs currently living there. Simon is to take over this park, be the alpha, be the ruler, but he will let her rule the zone if so Jane chooses too.

A fence divides the restricted zone from the rest of the island. A great, tall fence that repels touch. Jane can come and go, the raptors cannot. None may touch them though, not so long as they remain in the restricted zone and have trackers inserted under their skin. Absolute protection, after a few conditions are met.

It is tempting, and a fence means little to a raptor who does not understand the concept of freedom. The trackers are tiny, and would only be activated if they somehow got through the fence. It bothers her less that Jane thought it would, but this is not a decision for her to make.

She is not the alpha, Jane reminds herself.

The humans are giving the park a new start, a new chance. If people see the dinosaurs, perhaps they will learn to understand them. Not fear them like they fear the unknown so easily.

Protect the island. Protect the pack.

Hammond can deal with his herds on this island, keep his restricted zone for himself. His people have brought extinct animals back to life, they can find a way to stop over-population.

Jane will help the research team, even offer insight into making the paddocks, but she will not leave her home.

Jurassic World is not a place for her, or her raptors.

She is not the alpha.

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"My offer will never change, even when I die." Hammond says when Jane makes it clear she will not be returning to this island. The humans have learned to respect the power of the dinosaurs. "There will always be a home here for you. And your family. Simon will ensure this, as will his eventual successor."

Jane thanks him, climbs aboard the helicopter, and goes home.

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The folders that Sarah and Billy keep their notes in grow fatter and fatter until they give up and order more in the next supply drop. Eddie teaches Jane how to drive, and has to requisition a new car when she crashes it. No one is hurt, except Jane and her pride. Nick laughs until he cries.

Soft and sharp aches grow in her joints as the season of dryness comes, Summer Sarah calls it. The pains linger, eventually becoming an irritating background noise that can be forgotten most of the time.

"These are new," Nick says one day, poking the new dark numbs on her shoulders, where the skin is thick and dark like the raptors. "They gonna spike up like the ones on your arms?"

Jane shrugs, _who knows,_ and it is forgotten.

Time passes, dinosaurs grow.

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Eddie returns from a trip to mainland, new gear in tow – including a new car, which Jane _is absolutely not allowed to drive, not even a little – stop laughing, Nick_ \- and a whole crate of books.

"Got some clothes for you too," Eddie clears his throat, "yours are getting a bit old, and small."

Jane grins, digs through the books and touches the spines. "Thank you," she says, earnest in her joy of new books to read. The clothes are nice too, sturdier and thicker than that which she took from the old scientists. She does not need to cut them into new shapes to suit her tail and the way she moves.

Eddie mutters something that might be _your welcome_ , and passes a bag to Sarah. "The stuff you asked for."

Smiling, Sarah also thanks Eddie. "Jane, can you stay for a bit?" she says, "Give us the room, boys. Girl time."

Eddie shoves Nick and Billy outside before they can get a word in.

Confused, Jane peers over Sarah's shoulder. The bag is full of strange clothes. There were similar things in the drawers of the scientists, but Jane had no idea what they were for.

"These," Sarah begins, holding one up, straps hooked over her thumbs, "are called bras."

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Time passes, Jane grows.

The nubs on her shoulders do sharpen, skin hardening into light armour like that of her calves and forearms.

The new park opens. A success, she hears. _Visitor safety is our number one priority._ Simon and Hammond take them on a tour via a camera, and they are so happy. As are the dinosaurs, thriving in their paddocks, running free in the open fields. Younglings approaching the two for pets when they visits the rearing pens.

Alan was right. Hammond is a good man. Jane decides that maybe Simon is a good man too.

Her joints stop aching, and she is taller than even Nick now. Billy cuts her hair when it gets too long and shows her how to braid it.

Their research is done for the year.

"Cyclone season is a week off," Billy explains as he kicks the ball for Sickle, "they won't let us stay. We'll be back in three months."

Shrieking with her victory, Sickle trots back with the ball cradled in her arms. She drops it, nudges it with her foot like Jane does. The raptor is learning, like Queen and her songs. Jane is proud of them.

"You could come with us. Or go stay on Isla Nublar."

It is not the first time the offer has been made. They consider her too young to be here alone, but Jane is never alone. Hammond understands, at least. Simon says he has a pilot on standby if she ever wants to visit, or is in trouble. Jane's answer remains unchanged.

Billy sighs, sad. "Here," he picks the soccerball up, holds it out like a gift, "ball number three."

Jane accepts the ball, smiles. "Sickle was upset when Demon burst the last one. Thank you." Turning it over in her hands, Jane knows that the team will be coming back when the weather is less dangerous. And still…she will miss them. "I am glad that Alan convinced me to give you a second chance."

Billy smiles.

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It seems they all have gifts to give the morning they leave.

Nick takes off his necklace and dangles it before her. "It was a gift from these people I worked with in Africa. Giant crocodile attacked our boat, left a few teeth in the metal, and voila! Fashion forward jewellery. It's brought me luck, I think anyway, so here's hoping it brings you some too."

It looks good beside Eric's necklace, white fangs and wooden beads resting over her collarbone. Jane wears it with pride, even if luck is not something she believes in.

Eddie, who does not avoid her eyes and smell of fear now, passes her a tiny, metal rectangle that looks like the little devices Nick puts copies of his videos on. "Emergency beacon." Eddie supplies. "Flip the top, press the button. It will let us know exactly where you are, and that you need help."

The holsters for the daggers have tiny pockets on the sides. She slips the beacon within one, thanks him.

Eddie makes a strangled noise in his throat. "Take care of yourself, kid."

He goes back to packing up the computers, and Jane finds Sarah watching the compsognathus that dart through the old pens chasing crickets.

"We have plenty of good, solid evidence that will begin to convince the environmental boards that the animals here need and deserve protection. With the new park open, we can get great support from the public too – show the world that they are real, living creatures and not genetic monstrosities." Sarah chews her pen before scratching out yet more notes in her book. "Call me if you want an update. If I'm awake and not in a conference, I'll pick up. Hey," she looks up, squarely makes eye contact, "anything. You need anything, even just want to talk, you call, alright?"

Phones are irritating to talk through, distorting their voices and hiding the language of their bodies and scents. Half of Jane's language is gone over a telephone. Still…it is a kindness that Sarah gives.

Humans can be terrible. Humans can be kind.

Jane feels the _thum thum thum_ of the helicopter. It will be here soon.

"Don't worry," Sarah smiles, incorrectly reading the source of Jane's agitation, "we said that we will protect the island, and we will."

Jane believes her.

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Storms swell the rivers, reset the land, shake trees from their deep dug roots.

It is a cleansing. Corpses too rotten to be scavenged will be washed away, forgotten buildings will buckle under the onslaught of wind and rain. Sometimes weak dinosaurs are ended, sometimes plainly unlucky ones are too.

Sheltered in a high cave, the pack waits out the rains as they have before.

This storm is unusually cold, dragging bitter winds along with it. Jane builds a fire, and the raptors do not panic at the sight and smell of it if she remains near the flames now. Fire can be dangerous. Fire can be good.

Like humans, Jane thinks.

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During a spell of clear skies, the pack leaves to scavenge the bodies of the dead.

Jane finds the smell of some time dead meat repulsive. She goes to her cabin, finds it undamaged, and eats her fill from her stores.

Then, she runs.

Rivers are still swollen beyond the normal borders, and Jane stays high above the glittering waves. Sharks smell the bodies of the drowned and venture inland. Alice has eaten more than one of the toothy fish, dragging them from the river with her long snout and claws.

On and on, Jane explores, counting the dead, counting the living. A young brachiosaurus lies with its neck twisted unnaturally, a dozen drowned dryosaurus float down one of the smaller streams, a parasaurolophus lies dead, trapped in a mudslide. There are others that still cling to threads of life, wheezing wet breaths, keening from where mudslides have trapped them, struggling to escape from under fallen trees despite many broken bones.

Jane remembers Five, across the hall from her, slowly succumbing to death under his own growth. Frail bones that could not hold his weight, skin that tore and tore as muscle grew too fast. His eyes were blue, like the sky he never got to see. A slow death is a bad one.

Mercy is something Nick talked about. Mercy is a choice, a kindness.

Raptors are not cruel. Raptors are not kind.

Humans have the capacity to be both, to be neither. They have _choice_ , which is what separates them from animals.

Jane sees dinosaurs with twisted spines, crushed limbs, skewered by debris. Some may be live, many will not.

"Mercy," Jane says to her daggers, "I shall call you Mercy."

Jane chooses to give mercy.

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The season of storms is not over, but the cyclones have passed by Jane's memory.

It is safe enough for the pack to leave the cave for good. They eat, and then Jane explores again.

There is a boat anchored in the old docking bay.

It is big, old. There are cages on the deck. Big cages.

A hiss slides between her teeth.

Poachers.

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There are tracks. Many tracks. Old and new. They have been here for a week. Risky considering the storms, but it seems trapping dinosaurs is worth the risk.

Jane follows the tracks.

Traps have been set. Many traps.

Thunder rumbles in her chest. Dangerous. Hateful. Furious.

But.

Public opinion is everything, Sarah had said, it can mean the difference between fear and respect.

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Traps are found and sprung. Those that have ensnared a victim are destroyed beyond repair.

Know that I am here, Jane thinks, know that I am watching.

There are times when Jane is too late, when a noose has strangled a slim neck or sliced deep into flesh and vein. Red stains the forest floor.

Sickle and Jinx join in after a few days. _Scare_ , Jane tells them, _no kill._

They stalk the humans, carefully snap a twig or breathe a little too loudly, let themselves be seen only as slips of grey and shadow in the corners of their eyes. Jane can smell the humans fear, see their nerves. They mutter amongst themselves, hands tight around their guns. It does not matter, Jane has removed the firing pins from the guns while they slept one night.

Jane has many books on guns, dreadful things that they are. She knows how they work.

Today, Jane follows the poachers through the trees, throwing pinecones at them when they start to relax. Curses flow easily from their mouths, especially when they find destroyed traps.

 _Ghost of the Five Deaths_ , they start to whisper, _Ghost of the Five Deaths._

A few of her books had ghosts in them. Good ghosts. Bad ghosts.

Ghosts are scary, warn people away, defend their haunts.

"Think I can be a ghost?" she asks Sickle that night.

Sickle chuffs.

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Jane runs.

Around and around the humans she runs, too fast for them to see; they hear where she was and she is already gone when their eyes begin to seek.

Jane laughs, hissing, growling, chittering. She melds the sounds of raptor and human, sees their spines stiffen and sweat bead their skin.

Jane is a ghost.

Each night, Jane does something new.

She gathers the broken traps and silently piles them in a heap in the middle of their camp.

She gouges the trees with her claws along the paths they walk.

She releases the few dryosaurus they have on the boat, unplugs the freezer full of meat, and leaves the sun-bleached bones they have collected in a row along the pier.

She steals their shoes while they sleep and hangs them from the trees.

Jane is a ghost, and this is her haunt.

Off all the things Jane has done, it is the stolen shoes that finally breaks them.

One screams when he looks up, another cries, most spit and curse.

"Fine, _el fantasma_! We will leave," the one Jane has learned is the leader shouts, spittle flying and eyes wide, "we will leave the creatures alone. _Yo prometo, Fantasma de las Cinco Muertes._ I promise."

Jane grins.

They leave barefoot, too afraid to take down their shoes, and their boat only carries empty cages when they leave.

Jane is the Ghost of the Five Deaths.

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Twice more, poachers try to invade her island.

Twice more, Jane is the Ghost of Five Deaths.

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The research team returns, and Jane does not tell them about the poachers.

They worry already, and the poachers did not return a fourth time. There is no point. Jane has removed the threat.

"We are off to a great start," Sarah informs her the moment Jane arrives, "considering the unique conditions of this island though, we have a lot more work ahead of us."

Jane hugs her. Sarah stills, surprised, but folds her arms around Jane with a laugh. "I missed you too," Sarah says, squeezing.

"Thank you," Jane says into her hair, squeezing back, "thank you, Sarah."

"Oi," Nick huffs, hands on his hips, "where is my welcome party?"

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It is familiar, the routine that Jane settles into.

Sickle remembers Billy, and Billy nearly cries.

After repairing damaged equipment, Eddie asks her to help him scout out a location for a new, permanent research station. "Away from all of the mean dinosaurs with big teeth, please," he mutters, unfurling giant rolls of paper that show a number of designs, "even if I'm designing this thing with three foot thick concrete walls, I'd rather there not be a chance of someone stepping outside for a smoke and getting snacked on."

He stares pointedly at Nick.

There are dozens of other things that Eddie shows her. Seismic monitors, machines that will repel a carnivore with a foul smelling spray, thermal cameras that also identify the species by is characteristics and size.

"An amazing amount of support has come our way," Sarah explains when Jane asks why a permanent base is going to be constructed. "This will let us keep a close eye on the island, and ward off potential threats. A permanent presence here with InGen and Hammond's backing goes a long way to discouraging locals from renting out their boats for sight-seeing. Plus, inviting academics and researchers for visits increases our standing with those that are against what we're doing."

It is all very complicated. Jane does not care though. She does what they ask of her, and they protect the island in a way that she never will be able too. Jane protects the island from poachers, and they will protect the island from the rest of the world.

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"Alice never comes this far up," Jane says, "or the tyrannosaurs."

" _Ceratosaurus?"_

" _They wouldn't be able to,"_ Billy answers Eddie instead, " _the trees and roots are too closely packed together for predators that size. Dilophosaurus?"_

The forest is dense, where anything larger than a raptor would struggle to manoeuvre through without getting stuck or caught in exposed roots. "Juveniles, maybe; once the mother abandons them."

" _And this is well away from your packs territory. Alright, this could be it. Take a look around, Jane. See if there is a decent patch without growth. "_

In the distance, Jane can hear the brachiosaurus calling to each other. Drawn towards the braying, Jane hops and leaps over the overlapping arcs of the trees roots. It is like a roiling ocean, waves and waves of roots surging high and low, cresting and bowing. Jane has not come to this part of the island before, only seen the towering trees touch the sky from atop their perch on the cliff overlooking the sauropod valley.

" _We could make a killer treehouse instead of a big, cement block."_

Eddie snorts. " _Do you really wanna be stuck in a treehouse when a storm hits?"_

" _Those trees are bigger than-"_

Jane ignores them, they bicker a lot – especially with Nick - and makes her way to the gaps of bright light ahead. A clan of dryosaurus peep and hoot when they sense her, the lookout bobbing in alarm, and they scatter. Little dinosaurs have a haven here.

Jane walks into the light.

Turning, Jane pans the camera over the small clearing she has come into. There are many stumps and fallen trees. Under the new growth crawling over the fallen, the wood is black and brittle from fire. Perhaps a lightning strike has ignited a small blaze? Regardless, the result is a small opening in the dense forest that overlooks the valley below.

A perfect spot.

" _Whoa_ ," Billy says, _"guess this is it?"_

" _Does this mean we're not getting a treehouse?"_

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The designs on Eddie's table multiply, grow bigger and more detailed, until the helicopters return.

More people come. They wear helmets and bring bigger, nosier machines with them.

Jane avoids the construction, and the people, but she does climb high into the trees and watch them from time to time. The dryosaurus start gathering around the people when they have their lunch, picking through the equipment, leaving tracks in the drying concrete, and the people let them have some of their fruit.

A fence soon surrounds the foundation in a half-circle, and after a while the frame, and walls, and a ceiling. Humid head becomes dry heat as the seasons shift; the sun beats down harder and longer than usual. It helps the construction, drying the tonnes of cement they lay down, and before the dry season is done there is a new building on her island for the first time in many, many moons.

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The hatchlings have grown into younglings.

Jane lets them crawl over her, going through a familiar pattern of tapping snouts when little teeth sink too hard into her skin.

Jane sings, and once Queen joins in, the younglings attempt to mimic her. Trills and chirps wobble into longer notes, smoother and sweeter. The others join, and confused, the birds roosting above do too.

The pack sings.

"Our home will be safe soon," Jane tells them. "Soon."

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Though the rains have yet to start, cyclone season approaches, and Jane's friends leave as they must.

They are her friends, and that is still a strange thing to believe.

"We're so close," Sarah says, hands fisting as if her will alone is enough to sway the odds into their favour, "I think that we can finally convince those last few people."

Jane has still not told them about the poachers. Fishing boats dare to venture into the mouth of the river sometimes, full of people, cameras flashing. Though they went too far in once, and entered Alice's domain. The big girl is not afraid of boats, must think of them a threat to her territory, for she bellowed a challenge and ran them from the island. The boats have not returned since.

If they do return, Jane will tell Sarah of them this time.

"I know," Jane says, and does not feel strange when Sarah hugs her goodbye, _it's how you tell someone you'll miss them_ , "you promised."

Promises are important to humans. If they are kept or if they are broken defines who they are. There are many humans who are good, Jane has come to learn, and there are only some who are bad.

The helicopter grows too near, and Jane waves goodbye.

Jane runs.

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At last, the younglings are big enough to explore away from the nests for the first time. Since the rains are late and the air still dry, the pack ambles through the forest towards the coast for a cool breeze. Only the compsognathus come this close to the sea; no threat to a grown raptor, let alone a pack. It is a good day, a calm one before the storms, a gentle day for the young to experience the world beyond the nests.

The younglings squeak and chirp, chasing lizards, jumping on the dry leaves until they crunch, and Jane is happy. Dirt gives way to sand, the forest thinning into hardy shrubs, and salt thickens the air. Content, Jane lets her arms swing gaily, tail swaying along with her hips.

At the head of the group, Queen ambles at a lazy pace. Then, she stops. Rising, long neck stretching, the alpha draws deep draughts into her lungs. With a bark, the alpha beckons her hunters forward. They go, and Jane croons to the suddenly nervous younglings that press against her legs. Demon snorts explosively, stamping his feet rebelliously. He is too young to join the hunters.

"No threat," she says. "Safe. Safe."

She uses even more words with the raptors, teaches them phrases and meanings, and they learn. They learn through repetition, or through doing, so it takes time. Time is what they have though. Learning means that the pack will become smarter, know danger in forms they may not have considered. They listen to Jane.

Jane smells blood, decaying meat.

Queen's call rings out, _safe, come_. Hanging back, Jane nudges the young along towards a free meal, and leaves them to follow the older raptors. Up a tree she climbs, above the smell, until clean, sea air brushes her skin.

Knowing what lays over the glittering expanse of the sea does not fill her with a stifling curiosity any longer. Jurassic World is doing well, growing, bigger, better. More teeth line the paddocks, more people pay to see them. Simon calls Jane sometimes, asks for her opinions on paddock designs or animal behaviour. The dinosaurs are treated well.

Life is good.

Then, the pack starts screaming.

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Jane runs.

She leaps, jumps, claws her way through the trees. Her pack is screaming, screaming, _screaming._ Fear is a taste she will not soon forget, slipping like an eel between her ribs, pressing her heart up to her throat.

Jane hears voices, humans. Shouting humans, _round them up,_ and a thin noise breaks in her throat. Screams, human and raptor, mingle. Guns crack, again and again, _pop pop pop_.

"No," she whines, "no no no _no-_ "

Queen bellows, _retreat,_ just as Jane arrives.

Humans in black, in padding and armour with big, shiny guns, surround still members of the pack. Too still, too silent. Red paints the sand, and though three people clearly lay dead, so too are there grey, black, and white hides spilling blood. Darts and nets and a sweet-scented fog blankets the dead goat, the bait, the trap.

The younglings squeak from under a net, struggling desperately as hands that are not hers reach for them.

Jane screams, and descends upon the poachers with her fangs bared.

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Jane wakes.

Jane is in a cage.

Air scrapes loudly down her throat. She touches the walls, pushes, pushes, _pushes_ and they are real. Metal is cold and solid, not budging, not buckling. Nightmares are real things made into shadows, and Jane's shadows have become real again. She touches her face, feels for a mask or a collar, claws scratching lines of red in her panic.

Screams build in her throat.

The ground tilts, and Jane falls forward, slams against the wall. Pain splinters along her arm, her shoulder. Gasping, she falls to her knees, grits her teeth. Fresh blood comes away from the wound, and she feels the burn left by…by…

Screaming, guns, _pop pop pop_ , flesh gives under her claws, the sweet fog fills her lungs, the humans are shouting to each other, _what the hell is that,_ red paints the sand, paints her skin, a lance sparking with electricity, stabs into her shoulder, it burns burns _burns-_

Two. Jane had killed two, and then the darts and sweet fog had drawn darkness over her senses. Two of her pack are dead, two of the poachers are dead.

Jane is in a cage.

She shakes, she cries.

Jane is alone.

 _Emergency beacon. Flip the top, press the button. It will let us know exactly where you are, and that you need help._

Hands shaking, she touches the empty holster, finds the tiny pouch with Eddie's gift.

Relief has her crying with renewed fervour. The beacon is still there.

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There are footsteps outside the small room her cage is bolted in, voices that rise and fall frequently, and the confused cries of dinosaurs emerging from forced sleep.

Jane hears raptors.

Desperately, she calls for them, and they answer.

Jane hears the younglings, Jinx, and two others. Slate and Demon. They sound sluggish and confused, and Jane aches for them. There is no pain in their calls.

After that, time passes slowly, trickling along, and there are moments when she can hardly breathe, moments when she wants to claw her own skin to shreds just to feel something other than grief for the dead. She stalks the length of the cage, kicks the walls and slams bodily into them, drags her killing claws over the floor, a trail of sparks marking the path.

"I am not alone," Jane whispers to herself. She touches the pocket with her little beacon, a reminder, and it is easier to breathe after that. She clutches Eric and Eddie's gifts too.

A time later, a flurry of unusual activity comes from beyond the room. Rising, Jane listens, picks out the rising shouts of the poachers. They are alarmed.

 _Fire_ , they shout, _there's a damn forest fire._

Jane stumbles as the ship lurches into movement. Shudders smooth into a steady, whirring hum. She croons for her nervously chittering raptors, hears other animals on-board bleat and whuff, and grips the bars on the cage door as if she could pull them apart with sheer fury-fuelled strength.

Her shoulder throbs, and it smells of burned flesh and infection. A door slams open, bringing a gust of smoke tainted wind. Footsteps, hurried and heavy. A man appears before her cage.

Jane snarls, grips the bars and dares him to come closer.

"Shut up, dino-girl, or I'll fill more of the raptors with bullets," he snaps, harried, smelling of smoke and Nick's foul cigarettes. "We can't turn around and a fucking firestorm is coming. You don't want our ship to burn with you lot on it? Show me the fastest way through the island. This is a big boat, I need deep and wide rivers."

He holds out a map, tossing a marker before the cage.

There are good men in the world, and bad men. It is a distinction Jane has never considered to put upon herself before. She would rather see these poachers die, but there are helpless dinosaurs, her pack, trapped on this ship with her.

Jane can be bad, and she can be good.

Jane picks up the marker, sees an 'X' marking the ships position, and marks the route they need in red. Incidentally, it leads them past the aviary and Jane hopes they run into Alice.

"Let my raptors go," Jane rumbles.

"Not gonna happen," he says, passing a quick glance over the route she has drawn, "I've got a quota to fill, and the velociraptors are at the top of the list. You are a weird bonus…whatever you are. Oh," he halts by the door, casting a glare over his shoulder, "and if this leads to a dead end, I will shoot them. I only need two alive."

Jane growls.

He leaves.

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The scent of smoke thickens, and Jane can hear animals screaming outside. If this boat is so large, they will have to go slow through the rivers, be careful of the rocks and sunken boats. Fire moves quickly.

Jane hopes Queen has taken the rest of the pack far from the flames.

Sarah has taught Jane about ecosystems, how delicate they actually are. If the plants go, the plant-eaters go, and soon the meat-eaters will follow. One act, an entire empire gone.

Jane clutches her necklaces, Eric's carving, Nick's teeth and wooden beads.

There is a roar.

Fear still cloys in her gut, but Jane stands, grins a feral grin.

The big girl comes.

But then, when the shouting and guns begin once more, Jane hears the scream of a raptor. It is Queen, and the alpha is above. The pack is coming for their kin.

Jane hears the trapped raptors call for help, screeching, calling. Chains rattle and metal drags against metal. It is like a hunt, Jane realises, half make a noise, a racket, a distraction, and all while the panic lets in the hunters slip through shadows with their teeth ready to kill.

Jane laughs. She rakes her claws down the sides of her cage, calls for her pack, and laughs when the man from before bursts into the room.

"You," he shouts, white of his eyes bloodshot and full of fear. "You did this!"

"Not me," Jane grins, heedless of the gun, for a shadow made of fang and claw has followed him inside. "The alpha protects the pack, and the alpha has come."

"Shut _YAARGH-"_

Queen drags her claws down through muscle and bone, hooks her claws in deep. Blood sprays her in a red mist, and the man gurgles on a shriek, fingers searching for the gun Jane yanks out of his reach.

With a snap and twist of Queen's jaws, his neck is broken.

Jane heaves a shaking breath, reaching for the raptor who urgently pushes into her hands. She whines, inhales the scent of raptor and blood, and lets go. The body has keys, a ring of keys like Jane has, and she picks them from his belt.

Alice roars, the boat surges forward, a single explosion starting a small chain of them. Grenades, Jane thinks. She hears thunder too, which means the rains have finally come and will quench the fire.

It does not matter. Right now, there are raptors trapped and chained.

Jane tears from the cage, follows the sound of the other raptors, and finds them. They are not only caged, but muzzled. Queen calls, and the young keen and whine until Jane frees them. In short order, all of the raptors are free. Sickle sniffs Jane's wound and rumbles.

"Leaf and Finn are dead," Jane says, voice cracking, grief tightening in her chest.

They know the names, and must know they are dead, for the raptors hear the names and hum, low and below what humans can hear. It is a tone Jane has heard each time a hatchling dies in its sleep, when the other pack attacked them and Daisy, Night, and so many others lay in sleep eternal. It is a farewell, a remembrance.

Raptors mourn, and Jane mourns with them.

Queen hums, and then calls for them to go home.

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Up on the deck, there are bodies. Rain lashes at her, washing fresh and old blood away, and Jane steps over the dead without pause.

There are deep rends in the metal on one side of the deck, the railing ripped from its post. Alice has done well.

Silent, the pack carefully picks over the boat, Jane leading them to the cabin. They are out of the river and in the sea now, and raptors are abysmal swimmers. Jane needs to turn the boat around.

Winds push at them, turns the rain into stinging slaps. On they go, until they are up the steps and Jane sees-

Jane stops, wheezes, as the burning forests blaze against the storm-dark sky. Fire has swallowed so much that Jane cannot see a place untouched by flame. Rain has come, but the island still burns.

Firelight brackets the skyline, and that is Jane's home.

Their home is burning.

The pack chitters, shrill cries echoing over the water. They do not understand. Alice is silhouetted on the shore, sail glowing.

"Run," Jane whispers, "run, you idiot."

Long jaws snapping, Alice watches the boat. Jane does not know what to do, so she stares at the still spinosaurus, and weeps for their home.

There is a faint, metallic _clink_ , and rasping laugh.

Jane turns, looks down, sees that one of the men is clinging to life still, a little green ball falling from his mangled hand. These balls were in the books she had taken from the old guard room. Jane had heard some explode only a short time ago.

The grenade rolls between Sickle's feet, and for the second time that day, Jane screams.

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Comments are my life-force.


	3. Part 3

Of the Waters and the Wild

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The final instalment is going to be a novel length fic. Lord what have I gotten myself into? So, part three will be broken up into smaller chapters. I'm also being a little experimental with this final part, as you'll see, and I'm really looking forward to writing characters outside of Jane's perspective.

I really hope you enjoy the final instalment!

 **Warnings: Violence, gore, swearing, animal/dinosaur death, slurs, and** **probably** **most definitely inaccurate science. Also, this chapter is deals with trauma and PTSD – though not particularly in depth.**

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 _There is brine and smoke on Katashi's tongue._

 _In the too-far yet also too-short distance off, Isla Sorna burns. It lights up the storm-darkened sky with a hellish glow, bright and horrific and sending nerves spiralling through his gut. He wants to spit, rid his mouth of the acrid taste of sea and fire, but doesn't. Under his feet, the boat lurches with the churning sea. Within, he feels just as unsteady._

 _Team One is still in their helicopter, circling the boat from above with their eyes through the scopes of their rifles. The knowledge that a heavy artillery gun is mounted and manned in the helicopters belly does shockingly little to reassure Katashi._

 _Danger danger danger, his heart beats, danger danger danger._

 _Gun up, safety off._

" _I can see damage from grenades along the deck, Hamada," Captain Thorne says over the radio. "One might have clipped a gas-tank, caused that heat flare our thermals caught on the way over."_

" _Acknowledged," he breathes, and doesn't blame these people for resorting to explosives. "We're moving in. Hamada out."_

 _Katashi licks his lips. There are human bodies everywhere. Blood, guts, and bones on display. Body armour shredded and punctured, glittering shells of expended bullets littering the ground, rends from a Class 5 carnivores claws gouging one side of the ship and a good part of the deck. The stench hits him in the face and Katashi viscerally remembers why he'd refused to sign on for a second tour and left the army._

 _He stops those thoughts, breathes through his mouth rather than his nose._

 _Gun up, safety off._

" _Eyes on targets," Montenegro grunts, her voice low and flat. "No movement."_

 _Katashi keeps an ear on his team as he walks a measured circle around the tranquilized predators laying limp outside the cabin. Velociraptors. Class 6, a class of carnivore made just for their quick claws and quicker minds. He eyes the sickle curve of their killing claws and does not need to imagine the damage they can do._

 _For a moment, they all stand still, waiting, watching, guns levelled at the predators. Even in drugged sleep they inspire deep, primal fear._

 _Katashi moves in. His team follows._

" _I've got two dead here, looks like they took the brunt of the blast." Keyes picks her way through, stiff, cool. Gun up, safety off. She stops, momentarily, by four bodies far smaller than the rest. They filled them all, moving and not moving, with tranquiliser darts from the helicopter before touching down. The neon tufts on the darts are cheerfully bright amidst the carnage. "Make that three."_

 _They should all be destroyed, Robert Muldoon had written, and his words are passed around by ACU and Handlers like scripture._

 _Gun up, safety off._

 _Katashi rounds the bulk of the group, following the blast marks scorched into the floor. He finds the gas-tank, metal peeled back like the petals of a flower, and sees unspent grenades still clipped to the belts of a number of human bodies. It's not hard to imagine what happened. Captain Thorne was right._

 _He swallows. This is not a warzone, this is not a battlefield. They weren't expecting this. He wasn't expecting this, and it's messing with his head._

" _Captain," Team Two's leader says loud enough to be heard over the frightened honking of what sounds like a gallimimus in the background. It grounds Katashi. "I've got at least thirteen herbivores down here. Two carnivores, Class 3. All contained and mostly unhurt. " A pause too brief for Thorne to speak. "Looks like an expert poaching operation, ma'am."_

 _They are all too professional to comment on the quiet oath Thorne hisses. She used to work with the anti-poaching groups in Africa. "Alright, here's how this is going to play out. Team Two, finish your sweep and catalogue bodies. Human and dinosaur, dead and alive. Team One," she blows out a measured exhale, "get those raptors into the big cages on the deck and patch them up if you can. Peyton, land and power down. We're taking this boat back home, and you're driving." Another pause. "Anyone got eyes on the girl?"_

 _It is then, as the second helicopter comes around and fills his ears with low thunder, that Katashi sees a limp hand poking out from under a bullet-marked jeep. He trots over, ignoring the claws and blood and scars to check for a pulse._

" _Found her," Katashi confirms with numb lips when a pulse presses against his fingertips. "Hamada out."_

 _Gun up, safety off._

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Jane wakes, and everything hurts, but softly.

Soft pain is dangerous. Jane winds tight, flexes her claws against papery sheets. Panic climbs up her throat, even with the fog that drugs drag over her mind, but Jane hates. She hates drugs, hates how they sap her strength and dull her mind, how they make her weak. Hate sharpens Jane into a predator.

She pulls the IV out from the back of her hand, shuddering at the sharp sting and the memory of a hundred more echoing with it. The shudders grow into shaking that doesn't stop, and she has to clench her jaw to muffle the chattering of her teeth. She hates, yet fear is just as strong sometimes.

Jane pushes out of the bed, wincing at how sleep-heavy legs nearly buckle beneath her. Thin breaths rasp down her throat. Squeezing her eyes shut – to block out the light, the bright, white light that drenches the room – Jane draws herself up and tries not to smell the sting of chemicals in the air. She locks her knees to keep herself from falling.

Everything is so white. So bright. So familiar.

A thin noise breaks in her throat. This place isn't rusted and ruined and full of scattered skeletons. This place is real. Jane feels smaller than she has been in many summers. She can't breathe past the taste of smoke and salt between her teeth, can't hear past the high ringing in her ears.

She can't breathe. She can't breathe. She can't breathe.

"-ne! Jane!"

There is a touch on her arm, a presence so close, too close.

Jane leaps away, a snarl shredding up her throat. Her claws are up and-

It's Billy.

Jane blinks, stills.

Slowly, Billy's hand curls back to his side. He looks wrecked, skin loose and dark under his bloodshot eyes.

"You came," Jane rasps. There is a twisting sensation in her chest. It's small and delicate, fluttering behind her ribs. The pack always came when she called, but those at the other end of her beacon were not raptors. She reaches for her necklaces only to find her neck bare. "Where-"

"I have them," is what Billy says even though his eyes say a hundred different things. He pulls Nick and Eric's gifts out of a pocket and lays them carefully on the bed. He steps back, putting space between them. Jane scoops the necklaces up, puts them back where they belong. Her hands shake.

"Of course we came. We promised to-" Billy stops, swallows several times. "We promised."

Jane can't look at him. There were other promises they made too. The same promise Jane herself made.

Protect the island. Protect the pack.

She failed. They failed.

"Where are my raptors," Jane manages around the lump in her throat, clutching her necklaces and thinking of bloody smiles, little green balls of death, and how she wasn't fast enough. "How many of them survived?"

"Oh, Jane," Billy sighs wetly after a fretful silence, "I am so sorry."

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 _Billy is smart._

 _Even Jane thinks so, which means more to him than his PhD, oddly enough. He debates theory with Sarah over eggs on toast that leaves Nick looking constipated whenever he tries to follow, he defends his papers before committees full of people with grants named after them, he impressed Alan enough to take on a student in the mentor scheme he had previously staunchly avoided._

 _So, by definition, Billy is smart._

 _Despite this, he has no idea what to do when Jane falls to her knees and gathers the white raptors head into her lap._

 _Jane hasn't cried._

 _She still does not, even though Billy knows that this raptor is the one called Queen, the alpha, the one who accepted Jane into the only family she has ever known._

 _No one will ever understand. It isn't possible. None have lived the life Jane has. None ever will. She is alone, and Billy had no idea what to do._

 _Queen's chest shivers, skin burned beyond repair along most of her left side, and Jane does not cry._

 _But she does sing._

" _Not long now," Caterina murmurs in an undertone. She mutes the heart monitor. Billy can see the skipping line in the corner of his eye. He swallows._

 _No. Not long at all._

 _From deeper in the complex, the rest of the surviving pack must hear Jane, for more voices join Jane's song. It is unbelievingly tender._

 _Jane has told him of her packs songs. Even let him hear some through Eddie's little cameras._

 _Billy presses a hand over his mouth to muffle the broken noise he makes. He does not want to ruin the song of mourning._

 _The packs and Jane's voices rise and fall in a lilting birdsong that shivers the air with love and longing and loss. Queen pushes her head deeper into Jane's lap and manages one clear note, and then she is silent and still._

 _Jane doesn't cry, but Billy does._

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As Jane gently separates herself from Queen, she wonders if the earth is shaking, or if it is merely her own grief making her bones rattle. Jane stands, steps back from the ruined body of her Queen, and clenches her jaw before her teeth start chattering.

Jane sucks in a deep breath - her ribs seem to creak and moan like trees bowed by the wind – and lets it out slowly. Grief clings to her throat, stings her eyes. Jane cannot break, not yet, not now.

Jane leaves the room.

"Mr Brennan had to leave for a moment," the women who had silently greeted them outside the building says softly. Caterina.

"The others?" Jane croaks, pressing the pads of her fingers into the meat of her thumbs to stop the fine shivers that won't go away.

"As far as we can tell," she cautiously begins, a gentle sympathy in her tone that belies the hard set of her features, "they were well enough away from the blast that their wounds are relatively minor. Burns, scrapes, a few minor fractures. All should heal without issue."

Jane senses that there is more.

Jane waits.

"The raptors are refusing to eat anything they don't kill themselves." Caterina sighs. "It wouldn't be an issue if we weren't so concerned about their injuries."

"They do not trust you."

"Well, fair enough, I suppose," Caterina says, deceptively light as she plucks her glasses from her nose and polishes the lenses. "Any ideas?"

"I will feed them."

"Had a feeling you'd say that. Follow me."

Passing one last glance at Queen, Jane goes.

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Sarah is with Jane's pack. Billy stands at her shoulder, eyes red and puffy. Neither move towards her – Billy has been skittering around her light a flighty dryosaurus, twitching whenever she so much as breathes to loud. Jane is glad, and also not. She does not want human hands near her, but…

But hugs are nice.

"Honey," Sarah starts before trailing off into silence. Perhaps some paltry condolence for the entire world that Jane has lost sits in Sarah's throat. Jane has no interest in hearing it. Nothing will bring her dead raptors back.

Sarah seems to understand this. Instead of a pointless _sorry_ she says, "Will you be able to convince them to eat?"

"Yes."

Death is a part of life, and it hurts, but they must go on. Jane knows this, the raptors know this, though not in the same sense. It is grief and wariness plaguing her pack. The last kill lain before them was baited. No mistake is ever made twice.

Protests rise from the guards when it becomes clear that Jane is going into the pen, but all the noise dies when her pack sees Jane through the observation window and they call for her. They cry and call and limp around in dizzying circles with joyful songs. Jane's heart swells and swells until her throat closes and she cannot make a sound.

She is aware that people are watching. Jane doesn't care. Caterina holds a door open. Jane passes through, finds herself on a platform. It lowers her to the ground, and Jane's pack swarms around her. Snouts press into her stomach, jaws rub against her arms. Surrounded by teeth and claws, Jane feels safe for the first time since she woke.

"Oh Sickle," she buries her face into the raptors neck and draws the smell of _home_ and _pack_ into her aching chest, "I thought I'd lost you, my smart, brave Sickle."

Sickle croons, draping her head over Jane's shoulder and pressing her jaw down. The younglings twine through her legs and chirp until Jane scoops them up and holds them close. Demon presses tight to her side.

Slate smells Queen upon her. He calls for the alpha, for his mate. Jane's heart breaks.

Jane makes the sound of mourning. They understand. They sang before, but did not know for whom.

Slate keens, and the pack mourns their Queen.

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As Jane makes a show of inspecting the carcass Caterina has lowered into the pen, Jane realises that her pack will never have an alpha again.

No challenges rise once the mourning songs fade. Not even when, after Jane declares the food safe, they begin to eat. In the early days of their freedom, before Jane was a part of their pack and watched the raptors from the trees, Queen would snap and snarl over kills, asserting dominance over the rest. An alpha is what Queen had become to keep dissent from spiralling through the pack.

Jane watches her pack closely. There is no such behaviour now, and Jane can imagine Sarah carefully noting this down.

 _Let them watch_ , Jane thinks as Slate tears a chunk of flesh from the bulk and sets it down for his young, _let them see what cold creatures we are not, let them hate those that treat us as mindless things_.

Dino-girl. Six. Mine.

Jane hears the voices of dead men, echoing in her mind and her head, and hates.

She sits, brings her knees up and curls her tail around herself. She wants to hide in her cabin. The cabin is gone now, though, nothing but charcoal and ash.

Once her belly is full and snout clean, Sickle limps over and nuzzles Jane's temple. She croons, blowing warm air through Jane's hair.

"My name is Jane," she says, laying a hand over Sickle's neck, "and no one can take it from me."

Sickle rumbles, softly.

"Half of our pack is dead, Sickle. We are the last of the first." Jane presses her forehead into Sickle's warmth. "Don't leave me. Please, my Sickle. Please."

Jinx is dead. Queen is dead. Frost and Cyprus and Dale and Leif are all dead. If Sickle had not swiped the grenade away the whole pack would be dead too. Jane's eyes sting. She clutches Sickle tighter, so angry and sad and hurting that all she wants to do is scream.

Sickle sings. The others pause in feeding long enough to echo a few notes. This is not a song of mourning, this is a song of comfort.

"I am no scared hatching," Jane lies, for she feels young, afraid. "But thank you."

Sickle chuffs and sits so that they are pressed side to side. Jane almost smiles.

No alpha will rise from the remains of the pack that left the island. They do not need one, not with Jane there to keep them safe and fed, and so now they will become like the wolves of Yellowstone. A pack that will bring balance to a land without predators. And like the wolves, the young will follow the old. One or two will lead, but there will be no alpha.

Sickle and Slate listen to Jane. The young will follow them even if they don't follow her, and the pack will be safe.

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Jane has to crane her head back to see the structure before her in its entirety.

This is the wall that separates Jurassic World from the Restricted Zone. It is tall, intimidating in its solidity. Jane eyes the warnings attached to the heavy braids of wire with distaste. Despite that the fence is not active, her shoulder aches acutely. She does not relish being stung by electricity again.

"Not exactly a white picket fence," Simon says, "but then again, you are hardly keeping a pack of Pomeranians."

"I am not keeping them," Jane rumbles acidly. "They are not objects."

"That was a poor choice of words on my part. My apologies."

Jane pretends she doesn't see Simon's guard eyeing her critically – she can smell his nerves, sweat sharpened with salt and adrenaline – and goes, "Accepted, Masrani."

"Simon, please." Tucking the colour-tinted glasses into his front pocket, he smiles. There is a frustrating sincerity in every line of his body. "Shall we venture forth? I admit that I have wanted to see the creatures within myself. John was very adamant that only necessary personnel were to enter, however."

Jane pauses, killing claws tapping a beat against the soft undergrowth. "This is your island. You can go wherever you want."

"True," Simon concedes, "that does not mean I would abuse that power."

That is more comforting than Jane is willing to admit. "Does anyone else have access?"

"In the case of an emergency, yes." Simon gauges her reaction quietly, not balking at the thin growl that climbs up her throat. "Given the severity of the storms during cyclone season, for example, if your liaison has not heard from you in a certain amount of time, and you did not respond to additional calls, Captain Thorne would send a team to see that you were not harmed."

"Liaison?"

"Vivian liaises with all of our divisions. It is she that will handle any requisitions for you. Food, clothing, all of that. Ah, and if you should ever need the expertise of the veterinarians or medical staff, she can arrange that."

Jane shifts on her feet. "How many of your people know of me?"

"For the moment, outside of Caterina's people and the hospital staff, the senior Handlers and those in Control. As well as Security and ACU," with a graceful roll of his wrist, Simon gestures towards his guard, "Mr Hamada here led one of the rescue teams, in fact."

Hamada meets her stare unflinchingly, but she can more accurately gather why he is so unsettled now - by the blood, by the gore, by the death her pack and she left in the wake of their escape.

Or perhaps he is just unsettled by her in general. It wouldn't be the first time.

She rolls her eyes away, flicking her tail. She is too tired care what he might think of her.

Simon opens the gate while Jane stiffly climbs back into the open-top jeep that Hamada has been ferrying them around in. She feels like a giant bruise, skin pulling tight and sharp even when she is still.

Hamada guides the jeep through, waits for the gate to shut and Simon to take his seat again, and then they're off.

The further in they go, the more curious noises Simon makes. He shifts in his seat as if he has too much energy to be contained. A grin so wide that it crinkles his eyes sweeps across his face once they reach an old overlook that perches over a valley. Jane is less reverent, surveying the large herd of parasaurpholosus ambling along below. There is an unusually high number of juveniles among them.

The first generation, Jane realises, the first born when life found a way.

Instinct has Jane surveying the herd below, counting heads and picking the weak from the strong, but it is Sarah's teachings that turns Jane's attention to the environment. To the trees, the water, the earth. _The whole picture_ , as Sarah had patiently explained, _not just the parts that have to do with you catching dinner._

"I am curious," Simon says after a while, "what is it you see, Jane?"

She licks the back of her teeth. Even from this distance, Jane can tell that the grass plains are struggling to grow with the constant presence of the herbivores. A patchwork of greens and browns, spiked with the skeletons of dead trees mars what should be a largely pristine valley.

"The beginnings of collapse." Jane drums her claws against the back of Simon's seat, almost smirking when Hamada twitches at the motion. "It will take time and work to heal this place."

Perhaps, all that time ago, Jane should have accepted Hammond's offer.

That thought hurts, so she pushes it away.

"We do monitor their health superficially," Simon begins, mouth tugging into a frown at her answer, "and remove the corpses to prevent vermin and illness from exploding on the island. Occasionally, Caterina will gather a team and go on a neutering spree with the smaller creatures to try and keep the population under control."

In the forest beyond the farthest shore of the lake, several brachiosaur heads arc above the canopy. Their singing is low and easy. Jane can hear the peeping of dryosaurus only a dozen feet from where Hamada has them parked. It is peaceful here, but the balance is slipping.

Jane should want to run. To explore. She should be peppering Simon with questions. Later, she will, for she must build a map of this place and know all there is to know about it.

Now, Jane is tired. She settles back into her seat, feeling only a flicker of numb anticipation about exploring this place.

She clutches her necklaces, press her thumb into the shapes Eric carved forever ago, and wonders if Alice is alive.

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Jane stares at a building that wraps around two old trees.

It is a house. A home. Designed by Eddie and built by Hammond's money and will.

For Jane.

Part of her, the angry, wild thing inside wants to howl in rage. They wanted her here. They wanted her here to fix their mistakes and now she is here and it's like they knew this is how it was going to end.

Another part of her is almost moved to tears.

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There are shelves and shelves of books in Jane's new home.

Jane runs her hands over the spines, familiar and unfamiliar titles brushing her palms, until claws catch on the gilded letters of _Tarzan._ Jane nearly laughs. She holds it in, barely, because it would be a cruel sound, bitter and sharp like sea-whipped winds.

Tarzan left his island. It seems Jane has too.

Jane remembers comparing humans to fire once. Both can give, both can take.

This time, it has done both, and she doesn't know how to feel.

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In her zone, in a sheltered gully bathed in flowering plants, Jane digs and digs and digs until the earth is opened deep and wide in six places. It takes her a day to do this, and her sides ache when she is done.

Sarah is solemn when she arrives in a truck that bears the dead.

"Honey-"

"Don't." Jane sucks a breath in, eyes burning. "Please."

Jane almost breaks when all Sarah does is nod and step back. Fresh tilled earth was once a scent Jane enjoyed. It makes her sick now, as does the smell of laboratories and chemicals clinging to the cloud of cold death that hovers over the dead.

One by one, Jane carries her pack to their graves. She buries the younglings together, Snow and Spark, and tucks a wildflower between them. Her chest aches and aches and aches. It hasn't hurt like this for a long time. Maybe it will never stop.

Jane presses her hand over Queen's cold – so cold, so cold cold cold – snout a final time.

"I will keep them safe."

Jane buries half her pack, and it feels like she is burying half of her heart with them.

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 _Worry has been Sarah's constant companion for the past month. Since the second she got the call from Eddie, heard him wheeze that the beacon had been activated and there was a firestorm engulfing Isla Sorna._

 _And it had been so much worse than that._

 _Worse than fire and smoke and ash, worse than all the blackened, raw flesh Sarah had imagined while she paced up and down the private jet Hammond had sent to collect her, worse than all of it. Because, it was poachers. Hunters. People. The scream that had come from Jane haunts Sarah, the words she's snarled in delirium at the paramedics echo in her nightmares._

I will not be a number again.

 _Logically, Sarah knew of this trauma. Of the depravities, the robbed human rights, of the lysine contingency written into Jane's very DNA. It is one thing to know, Ian had said, it is another thing entirely to see. Those words buzz along Sarah's mind._

 _She knew. But now she sees. Has seen._

 _Jane is a child. A damaged, broken, feral creature made of muscle and scarred skin, but still a child._

 _A child that brought Sarah a bundle of wildflowers when she was sick, that carried Nick for two miles when he rolled his ankle in a fall, that watched Eddie's designs unfurl on paper with profound curiosity._

 _A child that stands seven feet tall over the graves of the closest thing she's ever had to a family._

 _Don't, Jane had said._

 _Don't, Billy had mumbled._

 _So Sarah doesn't touch, doesn't prod, doesn't do more than hold herself gentle and open – like she did when Kelly had nightmares full of screaming raptors and blood and the hot, meaty breath of the tyrannosaurus. Thing was, Kelly knew how to accept comfort from people, had never seen the darkness people were really capable of, never learned to be leery or fear human hands._

 _Jane is the opposite._

 _Don't._

 _The gentle wind kicks into a harsher gust, sweeping bitterly cold fingers though Sarah's hair. She shivers, pulling her jacket tighter. Jane twitches at the rasp of material, casting a glance from the corner of her eye. Sun, rain, or storm, it never seemed to bother Jane. The wilds were her heart and home. The only part of Jane that stirs from the breeze are the strands of hair that escape her long braid._

" _Would," Sarah coughs when the word snarls in her throat, "Would you mind if I said something? To them?"_

 _Jane turns, tiling her head questioningly. But for a moment the hollow, blank expression is gone and replaced with the faintest hints of curiosity. Sarah has seen that face before, on her brother when he came home from his first tour in Afghanistan._

 _Jane nods, and Sarah comes forward and stands as close as she dares to the child._

 _(The child, the child, she's just a child!)_

" _Thank you for keeping Jane safe." Sarah imprints those names crudely carved onto stone in her mind. "Thank you for being her family."_

" _Pack."_

" _I'm sorry?"_

" _Pack," Jane corrects, gentler this time. "Not family."_

 _Sarah doesn't understand, nor does she pretend to. "Alright. Did you want me to give you some privacy to…say goodbye?"_

 _Jane shakes her head. "The dead cannot hear my apologies."_

" _It wasn't your fault." Alan had been pushing the idea of bringing in some sort of therapist or psychologist to help Jane. Sarah is going to push harder now. "Jane, it was not your fault."_

" _I know." Jane says simply, yellow eyes bright and hollow at once. "But I was not strong enough when they needed me. Again."_

 _Again, Sarah repeats mentally._

 _Biting her cheek so hard she tastes blood, Sarah holds her silence until the urge to yell fades. She shivers._

" _You're cold." Jane eyes the shadows. Her tail flicks, just the tip. "It's late, we should go."_

 _Jane turns away and climbs into the truck._

 _Sarah hugs her arms around her chest and tries to keep herself from falling apart._

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While the pack heals, safe with Caterina's hard features and Sarah's fierce gaze to watch over them, Jane explores Isla Nublar.

She explores the forests, the creeks, the lakes, and the mountains. Despite knowing that Isla Nublar is brimming with far more security than Isla Sorna a sense of unease lingers along Jane's spine, and she casts long looks at shadows that aren't there. In the quiet, the voices of dead men echo loudly.

Jane is stubborn. She ignores the aches, physical and not, and shoves all of the fear into a corner of her mind. There is work to do.

The zone is fine, Jane supposes after a week of hard exploration, but for the places that wallow with the unforgiving presence of dinosaurs. Parts of the land are stripped bare, others hardly touched. As Sarah says that they need to create a plan, Jane marks these things carefully in a notebook and on her new map.

There are no dilapidated buildings, at least, just the great wall that skirts around her zone. Humans have not touched this place, not in the destructive way they normally do.

By night, and only by night, does Jane dare to venture into the edges of the park.

Jurassic World is loud.

Even at night, with the lights and workers and whirring of machinery, the park is full of noise. New York was describes as a city that never sleeps in one of Jane's books, and she thinks Jurassic World might be the same. Jane is overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humans. Even from a distance, hidden high up in the trees, their presence presses the air out of her chest. Main Street bustles long after dark. She cannot imagine what it might be like during daylight.

"It is a whole new world here," Jane tells Sickle one night, stomach turning with how much unknown there is ahead of them.

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Captain Thorne has dark skin and a scar that bolts over her lips and toward the corner of her left eye.

The first thing she says is, "Nice pair of daggers you've got" and the second is, "have a seat."

A little bit bewildered and a lot wary, Jane lowers herself into the only other chair in the room. Jane has no idea what to expect from Thorne, or this meeting.

"My daggers?"

Thorne does not move from where she leans, hip propped against the desk, as she pulls two very familiar holsters out of a drawer. Deliberately, she sets them down just out of Jane's reach. The sight of them, after thinking they were lost, makes Jane's heart hum.

"Before I give these back, I want to go over a few things. That okay with you?"

Jane's spine stiffens. She says nothing, feeling a blankness draw over her face.

Thorne chuckles, folding her arms. They are thick with muscle.

"No need to raise your hackles, kiddo. I just want to make sure you understand that, in the park at least, there is a strict no weapons policy. You wanna gear up in the Restricted Zone? Fine with me. Honestly, I'd feel like a sack of garbage if I stopped you from that." She wiggles her fingers and gives a grin full of teeth. "Not that you look like you need to pack some extra steel to be able to defend yourself."

Jane holds back a rumble. She cannot read Thorne's tone, her posture. She is different from all others that Jane has met. Controlled, strong, and completely at ease with Jane. It's strange. Alien. Jane doesn't know how to respond. It's like talking to someone on a telephone only worse.

Thorne waits, an absent smile on her face as if she can see Jane's confusion clear as day.

Jane frowns, tail flicking restlessly.

And then, Thorne laughs. Loud and bright, and it changes her whole face. Softening the hard line of her jaw and creasing the corners of her sharp eyes. All at once, Jane can understand her. Read her. It is only because Thorne allows it that Jane is able do so, and that it deeply unsettling.

This was a test.

Slowly, and nearly snarling, Jane says, "Why am I here?"

She asked that question a long time ago, and look what it heralded.

Thorne falls back into her chair, arms spread wide, chin lifted just enough to bare a hint of her throat. She pushes Jane's daggers within reach, gesturing for Jane to take them.

Strapping the holsters back on is like coming home. Jane touches each of the grips. From within, something settles back into place.

Jane breathes, and it's a little easier this time.

"So, rules." Thorne taps a finger against the desk. "Do not bring those weapons into my park, do not hunt any animals outside of the Restricted Zone, and never, ever, let those raptors out."

"That's fair," Jane admits, though grudgingly.

"And if they ever, for whatever reason, do escape into the park, I will have them knocked out."

Jane hisses, deep from her chest.

"Calm your farm," Thorne barks. On instinct and memory, Jane bristles, feeling her anger snap into something sharp and focused. With a grumble, Thorne visibly calms down, shoulders going lax. When she speaks again, it is low and measured. "Alright, here's how it is. I am in charge of keeping the people in this park safe. That means that, on average, 20 000 lives are in my hands every goddamn day. If your raptors, for whatever reason, managed to get out and hurt, let along kill, one of those people? They would be put down. Masrani and Hammond can't protect them from that."

A high noise breaks in Jane's throat before she can stop it.

Don't break. Not yet. Not now.

Heavily, Thorne sighs. "World works differently here than it did in your old stomping grounds, kiddo. I just want to make sure we all get long merrily and safely. Including you and your raptors. All the souls on this island depend on me to keep them safe."

Jane clenches her jaw until the urge to scream fades. It isn't just about her pack anymore. It's about families, thousands of them, that come here for fun and freedom.

Visitor safety is our top priority, Jane remembers.

This isn't her world anymore.

"I-" Jane stops, relaxes the fists her hands have curled into, "I understand that."

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It is two weeks after her meeting with Thorne that ACU loads her raptors into a long truck and brings them home.

The pack screams with joy, stampeding down the ramp and following where Jane's laughter beckons. She laughs and laughs and laughs, leading them onwards, running through the trees and over the shallow creeks until they are home. They pour into the small clearing below Jane's cabin, stretching languidly after the hard run they had been deprived of for weeks.

This place is foreign, but Jane's presence is strong here, her scent lingering on the trees and grass. Easily, the pack settles. Sickle noses the stairs leading up to the cabin, tapping her claws against the metal curiously. Demon tries to bite the water pipes and hisses when the excited younglings run headlong into his legs. Their squawking fills the grove that will become their new home, their new haven, with noise.

With life.

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A month passes.

Bones heal. Dinosaurs grow.

Jane takes the pack along their new borders. Their territory is large, but that space is barely a third of the zone now in Jane's charge. If she thinks about it too hard Jane starts to feel overwhelmed buy the responsibility of it all. So, instead, Jane runs, hunts, and watches her raptors settle.

She works instead of prying at the hollow, aching bruise inside her chest.

Already, the herds behave differently. All but the enormous brachiosaurs are wary, cautious, eyes wide and no longer quite so guileless. The pack is not strong enough to bring down the larger animals, not yet, but the gallimimus have already begun to venture away from the main lake and into forests largely untouched.

Sarah and Billy come in, sometimes with Caterina, and write notes in their books. Nick explained what déjà vu was once, and Jane thinks that this almost feels the same. Only, she is tired now. Bone deep. Down to her heart. She does not feel the same thrill when working with Billy and Sarah.

Today is the same.

Jane sighs, ambling along a long overgrown path on a long forgotten road. Today, Sarah will have more questions to ask, no doubt, about the herd movements and their health and a hundred more things. There is so much to do.

Jane climbs over fallen tree, hissing at the twinge in her shoulder. The infection cleared up, but has left a starburst of pink scar tissue behind. It still aches, at times. All of her does.

Like always, Billy and Sarah are waiting at the overlook. It is relatively safe, well beyond the packs borders. Besides, Jane is only a radio call away. She does not mind them coming into the zone, so long as she knows they are coming. Vivian has taken to calling Jane when she sees someone on the road that leads only to the entrance into the Restricted Zone.

Vivian is nice.

When Jane arrives, Sarah's smile is true, if smaller than it once was. Billy still shies away from Jane, keeps a distance between them at all times.

"Hey, honey." Sarah keeps her arms close to her sides. "How are you feeling?"

Jane almost snarls; she is exhausted of this question. Of the fretting, of being called fragile when they think she cannot hear.

Sarah bites her lip, and retreats from the question. Jane almost feels guilty.

"We brought you a surprise."

Jane hates surprises.

But, she hears movement from the truck parked nearby, the sound of someone snorting awake and-

It's Eric.

He sees her, and his face breaks like disturbed water, rippling with too many emotions for Jane to read. He scrambles from the truck and runs into her arms. Without fear, without hesitation. Eric is warm and real and shaking against her, crying into her shirt and gripping her back with trembling hands. He smells like fear and fatigue. He smells like home.

She hugs him tight. Her first friend. Her best friend. He's here.

"You've grown taller." Her voice is rough.

The sound he makes could be a laugh or a sob. She isn't sure. "Yeah," Eric says into her shoulder, right over the starburst, "I thought I'd finally caught you up."

Jane cracks what might me a laugh. It's a thick noise that catches in her throat like honey.

"Jane, I-" Eric pulls back, enough to meet her eyes and his brows twist with fear. "I was so scared. When-When I heard what had happened…"

Eric blinks once, hard, and loosens his grip without letting go.

"Are you okay?"

Jane thinks.

She's tired. Tired of feeling numb, of hurting, of fleeing instead of running.

"No," she says, and something inside of her breaks. "I'm not."

Eric pulls her close. Jane buries her face into his warm shoulder and finally cries.

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"I'm staying at the Hilton," Eric mumbles, cheek resting on her shoulder. "Mom is here too."

Jane swallows. She feels empty, but in a good way. Lighter. "How long?"

"Two weeks. School starts back soon."

"School?"

She can feel his expression against her arm – nose wrinkling, browns furrowing – and blinks into the soft, watery light of a cloudy midday. It will rain later.

"I missed a lot when I was on Isla Sorna and," he pauses, shifting, "I'm working on getting a scholarship into Harvard. Or Stanford. Maybe Berkeley."

Despite feeling wrung out and thin after spending most of the morning crying, Jane rumbles a chuckle. "I understood half of what you just said."

"Colleges. Where you go to learn about specific fields. Or careers. Like, become a doctor or an engineer."

Jane remembers how Eric loved to learn, loved to read all the books she had carefully collected and kept.

"And what do you want to become?"

"An animal behaviourist, I think. It's one of…" here, Eric curls a little, like he's nervous. Their legs dangle over the edge of the cliff, toes wiggling in the occasional breeze. Her legs are far longer than his, and Jane has never quite had a pair of human feet to compare her own to like this before. She wonders how he can run so fast on those little things.

Jane nudges his left foot.

"I want to work here, with the animals." Eric declares, strong and proud and determined. "Mr Masrani says that he can't give me a free ride, but there is a competitive internship program for the best students and if my grades qualify me then he'll give me a placement once I've got at least an undergrad under my belt."

He wants to work here. On the island that is Jane's new home. He will leave in two weeks, but one day he will be back.

"Eric," Jane sighs, and it's a happy sigh, "you are my best friend."

Eric makes a fragile noise.

"Same here," he croaks.

Eric settles more deeply into her side, going lax, and Jane rests her cheek atop his head. Curls that were once long are short now, tickling her nose. They have changed since their time together in the old outpost full of wooden sculptors and dusty books.

She feels, not happy, but content. Enough to heal, a little today, a little more tomorrow, and recover.

A finger traces over one of the new scars on her forearm. Gently, almost tenderly. Scars don't bother her, and Eric knows that. He knows where not to touch.

"Did all the girls go crazy over your scars like you'd hoped?"

That startles a snorting laugh out of him. "A few. It got old, when they wouldn't stop asking about the island. About everything." Tension flickers through him. "There is this one person who is…special. I mean, I guess. They don't ask, but they listen when I need to vent."

"Was it hard," she asks, "going back?"

"Not until a month after getting home." He sounds sad. "I missed you, of course. But, the freedom. The forest. Seeing the dinosaurs? That was the best." A pause. "I didn't miss the food though."

Jane chuckles, slapping him from behind with her tail.

They sit in silence for a time. Sarah and Billy have fallen asleep in the bed of the truck; Jane can hear their soft snores.

"I liked the books. You were right about Ian's."

It takes Eric a moment. He twitches, and then he laughs so hard that Jane has to grip his shirt lest he tip over the edge of the cliff.

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Jane's friends leave for their beds and hotels with promises to return tomorrow.

But before he can dart away, Jane grips Billy by the arm and holds him back.

"I am not afraid of you, Billy," she says, "Please don't be afraid of me."

His next exhale is wet and shudders in his throat. "I know, and I'm not."

"Then why do you…" she wiggles her fingers, rolling her hand sharply though the air, unable to put his behaviour into satisfying words. Billy quirks a brow at the gesture.

"Sarah thinks you have PTSD," Billy admits, though with obvious reluctance. He won't look at her. "I obviously triggered it and I don't want to hurt you like that again."

Jane has no idea what PTSD is, but she thinks that she understands what event he refers to.

"It was not you. Mostly." The starburst mottles the six on her shoulder, marring the number that defined her for so long into a patchwork of faded ink. It has no meaning now. "It was the room, the drugs. I was," she grits her teeth, fingers flexing, "panicking. Afraid. Before I heard you."

Billy blinks. He looks down, but not before she spies tears welling. "The whole reason you were there, here, is because we failed."

Oh.

Sarah waits patiently by her truck, and there is a cast to her gaze that tells Jane that Sarah can hear every word they say.

"This was not your fault, or mine. You do not need to prove to me that you can do better." The words feel important as Jane speaks them aloud, sinking into the brittle space between them with a warm solidity. "You came. That's what matters."

Sarah smiles. It crinkles the corners of her eyes.

"Jesus Christ, Jane." Billy swipes at his eyes. "You're one of a kind."

Eric's laughter bursts the quiet moment. Jane hugs Billy, and Sarah, and Eric again. She watches them go, and it doesn't feel like loss this time.

Jane goes home.

The pack welcomes her back with soft chirps, settling down in the grass and patches of afternoon sun with ease. Her home, her cabin, is above. She climbs up, picks a random book, and spends a quiet afternoon reading rather than running. Rather than tallying how large the herds are or where the land most desperately needs a reprieve from their large appetites.

The pack is safe. Here, they are safe.

When Jane wakes the next day the dawn does not seem so heavy.

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I'm curious/nervous about how this turned out. Did you guys like the sections written from other characters perspectives? Is there a POV that you'd like to see in coming chapters?

I'm sorry about the wait between updates, 2016 has been a non-stop shitshow. Not sure when the next part will be ready, but hopefully now that I've got the ball rolling it won't be months off. You can always message me, or chat with me on Tumblr as 'birdy-in-the-blues'.


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